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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117217">i'm yours to love, i'm yours to hate (isn't that one and the same?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitizedturtle/pseuds/digitizedturtle'>digitizedturtle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/F, Slow Burn, because these two belong together in every universe, love at first sight hate at first sight same thing?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:46:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>159,620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitizedturtle/pseuds/digitizedturtle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Villanelle is a traveling interior decorator. Eve owns a bar. </p><p>Two worlds that don't intersect at all, so what happens when they do?</p><p>Or:</p><p>These two belong together in every universe. Here is one version of that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>618</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am shocked to be putting out the first chapter of this AU so soon! the idea had been bouncing around in my head for a while, and I drafted a skeleton of it while I was finishing my other fic.. but time is being kind to me, and allowing the words to flow freely! </p><p>this is going to be Villanelle's POV and I must say the feat is somewhat intimidating. Villanelle is such a complex, nuanced character that is both an honor and an absolute challenge to do justice to her characterization.. especially taking that character out of her usual setting and throwing her into a new world! </p><p>anyways, for those of you who have found yourself there after my last fic - thank you so much for taking a chance on something completely different, and I hope you like it! buckle up, this one is going to be quite a ride!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Franklin, Pennsylvania is the shittiest city on the East Coast. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe in the United States.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can't say, for sure - she hasn't been to every city in the States - but she's been to enough and Franklin is up there in terms of.. <em>shittiness</em>. </p><p> </p><p>If it were any other client, she'd be utterly perplexed at their decision to purchase property in such a drab area. But the client is Carolyn Martens, and having worked for the woman twice already, she knows the older woman has a certain fondness for.. <em>drab</em>. She surrounds herself with it. It confused Villanelle in the beginning, when the older woman insisted on varying shades of gray for the interior of her home in London, but she quickly learned the woman preferred to exist in a state of bland hues and so Villanelle did her job accordingly; provided exactly what the British woman asked for. When Carolyn arched an impressed brow at sight of her newly-decorated home, Villanelle recounted just how well she blended into the environment; accepted it. She regarded Carolyn's pull towards an environment completely lacking in anything exciting as an act of penance. It fascinated her. </p><p> </p><p>So when Carolyn called upon Villanelle to decorate her second home in New York, the blonde decided to push her luck a bit. She was <em>good </em>at her job; she prided herself on her ability to create something beautiful out of nothing.. so this time, she took the risk of adding in a little color. She furnished the overwhelmingly gray home with fragments of red - a red accent chair, a red clock, a red painting. Nothing extravagant, but still risky in the traditional book of Carolyn Martens. When Carolyn first stepped in, Villanelle stood with baited breath - but the woman gave away no tells. She remained completely unreadable.</p><p> </p><p>She must have liked it, however. Because here she was, a year later, in <em>fucking </em>Franklin, Pennsylvania about to start work on Carolyn Marten's third home. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's heels click against the unpaved sidewalk as she strides down the street - turning heads, as she does, which she would usually take as a confirmation of her beauty - but she figures it is equal parts that, and the fact that she is the most colorful thing in the passerby's field of vision. Her outfit is a stark contrast again the aging scenery of the small town - varying shades of fading brick, and chipped white paint make up the length of the street. She's dressed in an off-white blouse, pink trousers, and her floral bomber jacket - she sticks out like a sore <em>fucking </em>thumb - and while she usually would welcome the attention, she prefers to be ogled by hot middle-aged women.. not the residents of Franklin, Pennsylvania who all seem to be well over the age of 50. When an elderly man stops licking his ice cream cone, in favor of stopping mid-strid to watch the swing of her ass as she walks by, she rolls her eyes before knocking the cone out of his hands. It hits the ground with an audible <em>splat</em>. </p><p> </p><p>And that's another thing - the town of Franklin, Pennsylvania is quiet as <em>shit</em>. She has knocked varying different types of food out of men's hands that have stopped to ogle her - hot dogs in New York, falafel wraps in London, gelato in Rome - but she never hear the sound of the food making contact with the ground over the bustle of the city. It's chilling. The sound of a car passing is few and far between, and the only sound Villanelle has been able to note as a frequent occurrence is the small waves breaking in the river that the town borders on. </p><p> </p><p>She stops to lean over the railing, looking at the water lapping at the borders of the canal, before refixing her eyes on the scenery of the town. It's quiet, bland, and dying - so it makes perfect sense that Carolyn would decide to take up a third residency here. That, and it's only an hour and a half flight to New York City. The British woman works out of New York as often as she works out of London, so Villanelle figures this is her idea of a vacation home. Her lip curls in disgust at the thought. It can't be anything other than penance - that is the only reason somebody would subject themselves to an environment like Franklin willingly. </p><p> </p><p>When she arrives at the home, she sighs. It is a two-story victorian home - spacious, littered with large windows that reflect off the wood paneling of the floors - and it's.. <em>beautiful</em>. She sighs, because while she disagree'd with just about every decision made Carolyn in regards to furnishing her homes, she couldn't help but admire the woman's knack for finding some of the most beautiful properties Villanelle had the pleasure of working on. She sighs, because there is nothing she hates more on this god-forsaken planet then putting forth work that she doesn't feel connected to. It makes her nauseous. Her job is only of the only things she likes about her life, and the thought of embellishing a historical victorian home with ashen, lifeless decor is something she simply can not do - even for Carolyn Martens. </p><p> </p><p>She inhales deeply, looking around the vacant space of the multi-level home, before sliding her phone out of her pocket, and dialing Kenny's number. He doesn't answer after the first three rings, so she hangs up and calls the office instead.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh.. Vasiliev Design." Kenny's voice carries through the other end of the line, awkwardly and slowly, and she knits her eyebrows together in confusion at the sound.</p><p> </p><p>"Kenny? Why are you answering the phone?" Kenny works on the upper level, his desk adjacent to Villanelle's - so it makes little sense that he's hanging around the front desk, unless.. "Where's Audrey?" She asks mischievously, and Kenny doesn't have to see her smirk in person when it carries effortlessly through her words.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle? She went to the bathroom and I was, uh, around.. so I just thought I'd answer." Kenny stutters back, in reply.</p><p> </p><p> "God, Kenny. Stop hanging around the poor girl's desk and just ask her out already, for fucks sake." Villanelle quips - and sure, she's not one to give unsolicited advice but she can only bear the look of Kenny's lovesick puppy eyes around the office one more time before she forces them into a closet together, and locks the door.</p><p> </p><p>She hears him sputter a bit on the other end of line, but he can't seem to pull it together to manage a reply. The flustered sound of his voice just makes Villanelle's smirk grow wider. "Do you need Audrey?" He asks, exasperatedly. </p><p> </p><p>"No." Villanelle replies, her voice steadying back into some shade of professional as she focuses on the matter of hand. "I actually called to speak to you, so this is perfect, actually."</p><p> </p><p>She's glancing around the house - and her brain kicks into the gear it always does when she's assigned to an empty space. She imagines all the beautiful colors that could compliment the home - purples, blues, yellows - and she knows that she's already at a loss because there's no way in hell Carolyn Martens would accept more than three colors in a home. Well - three colors that aren't white, black, or gray. But she's not relenting on this one; doing a disservice to such a beautiful home would be.. <em>sinful</em>, so she has to figure out how to work the small amount of length that she currently has on her leash. </p><p> </p><p>"Your mom." Villanelle continues - her voice turning into something motivated; calculated. "What colors does she like?" </p><p> </p><p>His breath stalls for a second on the phone, before he relays a confused answer. "Um, shouldn't you know? You're the one who's decorated two homes for her." Villanelle rolls her eyes, but she knows she only has to allow three seconds of awkward silence before Kenny continues, and when he does, he says, "Dark grey, light grey. White, <em>off-white.</em>." He starts listing, and the blonde cuts him off. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, let me rephrase the question." She surrenders, blowing out a raspberry, before continuing. "What colors does your mom not hate? Aside from the usual monotonous.. bullshit." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rarely solicits outside help on her projects. She works best when she doesn't have some other person jabbering in her ear and obstructing her vision, but working with Carolyn's son allows her a unique advantage if she's planning to put herself in a potentially risky position. Working for Carolyn is somewhat.. <em>soul-sucking</em>, as the blonde usually has full creative control when it comes to decorating client's homes, but seeing as Carolyn has been their biggest sale the last two years in a row, she's pigeonholed into a position that is somewhat.. safe. Villanelle hates playing it safe. She also hates the fact that she loves color, and Carolyn seems to hate it with every inch of her being. This was why it was very confusing for her when she was assigned to the project. </p><p> </p><p>The whole reason that Carolyn has enlisted the service of Vasiliev Design was because her son worked there, so why shouldn't Kenny take on the responsibility? And.. because she's <em>totally</em> banging Konstantin. When she questioned this, Konstantin mentioned something about <em>Carolyn is very firm about not working with family, Villanelle. W</em>hen she questioned whether Carolyn was getting a discount because the two of them were fucking, Konstantin's face turned bright red and he wagged a finger in face, saying something along the lines of <em>Villanelle! You must keep it professional! This is a gift! It will be your biggest commission of the year! </em>and Villanelle let it go, for the time being. His response was a confirmation within itself; but she didn't really care. She just liked to see the old man flustered - but it made no difference to her if the two of them were banging so long as it didn't affect her pay cut. In this case, it only seemed to increase it. So, she accepted, and with that acceptance, she entered into her very own, personal state of pasty, eggshell-white-Hell.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know." Kenny breathes out, before adding, "She didn't hate the red you added last time."</p><p> </p><p>"Obviously!" Villanelle snaps back, gesturing her arms out as if to say <em>That's why I'm here!</em>, but when she realizes Kenny can't see her, she just groans. "Think harder, Kenny!"</p><p> </p><p>The line is silent for a few beats, before Kenny offers a hesitant reply. "She owns a few blouses that are purple." <em>Purple</em>, Villanelle thinks, <em>I can work with purple</em>. "She has some knick-knacks around her room that are yellow. Her coffee mug is yellow."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Yellow</em>?" Villanelle asks, in disbelief, because out of all of the colors of the <em>fucking </em>rainbow, she would have never begged Carolyn as a liker of <em>yellow</em>. It's not confirmed she does, and yes - going off of the color of her coffee mug is a stretch - but Villanelle can feel the subtle excitement churning in her gut and that's enough to give the blonde the push she needs.</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks, Kenny! Bye!" She shouts into the phone, a little too chipper for somebody who hangs up before the other person can reply, and she slides the phone back into her pocket. </p><p> </p><p>She moves her body in a slow twirl - surveying every inch of the living space. When she's able to envision pops of purple and yellow, instead of white and gray, it allows a familiar excitement to seep into her body - the same kind that usually comes when she's able to start a new project, but one that has been severely lacking every time she's taken up work with Carolyn Martens. </p><p> </p><p>She wastes no time in pulling up Google Maps, and as soon as she's located the nearest paint shop, she's out the door - the stride in her step is indicative of something big. She's either about to make the biggest mistake of her career, or she's about to pull off the most impressive project to date. But neither of those things mean she has to spend hours in a paint shop staring at varying shades of gray, so that's enough for her.</p><hr/><p>It's not until she's leaving a nearby furniture store, and the sun is setting, that she decides to call it a day. She figures it's well-deserved. She has accomplished more in the last four hours, than she usually does in the first three days of working for a client. </p><p> </p><p>As soon as she left Carolyn's soon-to-be home, she spent an hour in the paint shop, looking at nearly every shade of purple they had to offer. It was clear that the owner was exasperated by the blonde's presence - what started out as an eagerness to help the younger woman to decide on a shade, turned into something barely reminiscent of customer service by the time she asked to see her twenty-fourth sample. The twenty-fourth one, Violet Petal, is what allowed her to finally bite the bullet. It was a grayish, purple - light enough to reflect light and allow the space to feel as open it should, but neutral enough to not send Carolyn into anaphylactic shock. It is something she has to be careful about, after all, as the British woman is allergic to vibrancy. </p><p> </p><p>She hires the shop's painters to begin work tomorrow, and the owner regains his initial level of perkiness when he realizes just how much money he's going to be making off the young woman. It annoys her - people underestimating her as a young homeowner trying to decide what color to paint her bathroom, as opposed to an acclaimed interior decorator, but she's not left with a lot of options given this is literally the only paint store in the small town of Franklin. She rolls her eyes before leaving the shop, but not before <em>accidentally </em>knocking over a display of empty paint cans they had arranged in some structure, that she thinks is supposed to represent a house, on her way out.</p><p> </p><p>When she scores at a nearby antique store, she briefly entertains the idea of literally patting her own back. She doesn't - because she's not a child - but she had somehow managed to score a vintage Blanchette chandelier, a mint condition Wansley coffee table, and a fucking original Tiffany pearl floor lamp. It is the definition of a jackpot, and yes - she hates spending time in off-putting small towns when she could be.. <em>literally </em>anywhere else, but she always seems to land her best finds in them. They're less pawed through then the ones in the city, and that is maybe the one perk of working out of a town like Franklin. She arranges to have the furniture shipped in five days - which leaves her enough time to order the bigger pieces from her usual designers in New York (because while Villanelle thinks there is much charm to be found in antique stores, couches should never be bought second-hand, especially not for Carolyn Martens), and leaves just enough time for the painters to finish before it arrives. </p><p> </p><p>As she walks back to her hotel, night is slowly falling upon the small town. The businesses are all flipping their signs to <em>Closed</em>, and the quiet streets are slowly being illuminated by a combination of street lamps, and fairy lights strung across the trees. Villanelle listens to the sound of her heels on the pavement, and the sound echoes the one of the cogs working in her head as she decides which way she'd like to entertain herself tonight. It was the same two options, every time she was out of town for work: <em>Go back to her hotel, order some champagne, slip into a robe and watch whatever movies the hotel has to rent</em>, or <em>find a companion for the night</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She really should save herself the energy, as the latter choice will poise more of a challenge in a town as small as Franklin. But she does like a challenge, and she figures that a town as boring as this has to have produced a few disgruntled housewives. She makes up her mind when she realizes the high she's still riding from the process she's made decorating Carolyn's home has left her with a lot of of pent-up energy, one that she will <em>absolutely </em>need a helping hand to take care of. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't weigh the decision further. She simply turns into the first open bar she sees.</p><hr/><p>It's a wine bar, which is.. <em>surprising</em>. Villanelle didn't know these existed here, but it's perfect. There are a few middle-aged women littered throughout - mostly in groups, talking with one another - but a few sitting alone at the bar, and the blonde can feel the tense energy radiating off of every single one of them. She figures this is the place they come to escape from the monotonous routine of their lives. </p><p> </p><p>There's one in-particular - sitting at the end of the bar, staring at her phone, and the bored hunch of her shoulders is enough to send Villanelle prowling in her direction. As she sits in the empty seat a couple chairs down from her, the younger woman studies her profile - she's pretty, blonde.. which is not Villanelle's favorite, but <em>whatever</em>, and the glow of her wedding ring reflects the lights above the bar whenever she takes a sip out of her glass. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle smiles, easing her features into a friendly expression, before turning her body in her chair to face the woman. "Can I ask what you're drinking?"</p><p>The blonde jumps a bit as the sound of her voice, before turning to face the Russian woman. She watches as the older woman takes a moment to drag her eyes down the length of Villanelle - eyes wide as she obviously registers the younger woman's presence as something that does not belong in Franklin, and it's not a sexual gaze, <em>yet</em>, but it is a curious one, and curiousity is something Villanelle can work with.</p><p> </p><p>She continues, "I'm from out of town. I'm not familiar with the wine list."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh," the married woman blinks in surprise, letting her fingers trail along the rim of her wine glass, and she smiles - obviously welcoming the attention, probably welcoming any sort of distraction that is not playing <em>Candy Crush</em> on her phone. "It's a Napa Valley Merlot." </p><p> </p><p>The bartender walks over to take Villanelle's order, and she turns to him confidently, "I will have whatever she is having." The blonde glances at the last sip pooled at the bottom of the older woman's glass, and she bites her lip before asking, "Would you like another?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh." The married woman's eyes widen in surprise, and Villanelle watches as a blush spreads across her cheeks. It's cute, Villanelle regards, she loves the sight of an older woman blushing. It does something to her. "Wow, sure. Thank you. That's very nice of you."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just smiles. When the two glasses are placed in front of them, she moves into the seat next to her, and the woman turns her body to face her. Perhaps, not so much of a challenge after all. </p><hr/><p>By the time they finish their glasses, the blonde has learned an exorbitant amount of information about the older woman. Her name is Stephanie, she's married with two kids, she was born in Lancaster and moved to Franklin after she met her husband, she sells life insurance. She has learned nearly everything there is to know about Stephanie, and Stephanie has not learned a single thing about her - outside of her name, and that she travels for work. It is easy to dodge questions, especially with bored housewife type - they are usually desperate for an outlet, somebody to talk to outside of their home. It is all going perfectly, except for the fact that Stephanie is clearly the kind that needs to be made comfortable before the blonde can even entertain the thought of making an advance.. and the quiet environment of the wine bar is not conducive to such a task. No, not at all.</p><p> </p><p>When she suggests trying out another bar, Stephanie looks surprised - and excited. They leave shortly afterwards, walking down the street and Villanelle half-listens to the woman's chattering as she surveys the few open bars taking up residency on the street. Stephanie is very.. <em>exuberant</em>, and Villanelle figures that she hasn't been out with a friend in a while. Years, maybe. It almost makes her feel bad, but then the younger woman remembers that there is a good chance she will be giving Stephanie the best orgasm of her life in just a couple of hours, and she figures that is a gift much more significant than friendship. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stops in her tracks when the sign of an out-of-place looking bar catches her eye.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Forbidden Fruit.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The sign is gothic, aging - and it looks like it belongs more on a back alley in London than it does in Franklin, but that only intrigues her more. There is a subtle red glow emanating from the window, and Villanelle ushers the woman towards the direction of the door.</p><p> </p><p>"Here?" Stephanie asks, wide-eyed, stopping to look at the younger woman. "God, I have not been <em>here </em>in.. ages."</p><p> </p><p>If Villanelle needed anymore confirmation to step inside the establishment, that was it. What kind of reputation does this place have for it to elicit that kind of reaction from sweet Stephanie?</p><p> </p><p>When they step inside, Villanelle has to make a conscious effort to maintain her resolve, because her jaw is threatening to fall open. She usually hates dive bars - hates the smell of piss, and loud music, and paint marker scribbled all of the walls.. but this is a different breed. It is dimly lit - red fairy lights producing a subtle glow on the interior. The furniture is almost exclusively red velvet and black leather - from the bar stools, to the pool table, to the couch in the corner. Villanelle lets her eyes travel the walls - and black framed art covers almost every inch of the wall, and it fits together beautifully. Panelling and making it look not.. <em>shitty</em>.. is something that is not easy to do, but whoever put the pieces together did a more-than-adequate job. Villanelle is.. <em>impressed</em>. The bar is clean - exceedingly so - but not sterile, the environment is.. seductive. A hidden gem stretching its hand out to the passerby's of Franklin, and Villanelle has to shake her head to remind herself why she is there in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>A curly-haired bartender welcomes them from behind the bar, wiping his hands dry with a towel, "Heyo ladies!" Villanelle cringes - the man's greeting sobering her, bringing her firmly back into reality - but she manages a tight-lipped head nod. He gestures to the bar, "Why don't you have a seat, and I'll take care of ya in just a minute."</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, placing a hand on the small of Stephanie's back, and leads her to the bar. She doesn't miss the way the woman leans into her touch, and when they sit down at the bar, Stephanie crosses her legs so that her foot is connecting with Villanelle's calf, as the younger woman sheds her jacket onto the back of her chair. </p><p> </p><p>The place is mostly empty - save for a couple men playing pool, and two women sat at the corner at the other end of the bar. The bartender returns momentarily - his name is Hugo, he relays happily - and his eyes linger on Villanelle for a bit longer than she likes - equal parts flirtatious, equal parts genuine surprise. "You're not from around here."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks an eyebrow, her face voice of reaction otherwise, "No. I travelled far and wide. I am very thirsty." </p><p> </p><p>Stephanie snorts a laugh at that, and Hugo just raises his eyebrows at her tone, before a smirk travels across his lips. <em>God</em>, he's cocky - she can already tell. "What are you having?" </p><p> </p><p>"I'll have a Gin and Tonic." She replies, happy to switch gears from the shitty wine they were just drinking, before adding, "And whatever she is having." </p><p> </p><p>Stephanie orders a Rum and Coke, and Villanelle hands Hugo her card before turning to Stephanie. She rests a nonchalant hand on her knee - it's not a risky gesture, not with the way Stephanie is already very much in her space, and it's something that can be read as friendly rather than flirtatious. She's still testing the waters. Villanelle props a hand on her chin, leaning her elbow on the bar, before fixing her gaze on Stephanie's, "So.."</p><p> </p><p>A booming laugh interrupts her sentence. It is <em>annoyingly </em>loud - snort and all. It nearly makes Villanelle wince, and when she turns her head to cast daggers at the perpetrator at the end of the bar, whatever annoyance was being summoned on her face is killed instantly. It is hard to muster up murderous looks when you can no longer breathe properly.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle eye's fix on two women sat at the end of bar - more specifically, the curly-haired woman who is throwing her hair back in another ridiculous laugh. She can hear Stephanie mumbling something to her - but it reminiscent of background noise, a distraction if anything - because right now, the younger sole focus is taking in every feature of the dark-haired stranger.</p><p> </p><p>Her hair falls in dark, cascading curls around her shoulders - like a beautiful black waterfall that Villanelle desperately wants to submerge herself into, never to reemerge. Her face is beautiful - high cheekbones - reminiscent of apples given the shade of them, and the younger woman can only assume it is a result of the two empty glasses in front of her. Plump lips accentuated by a Cupid's bow, and when she laughs, her eyes crinkle with the movement - fine links indicative of experience, of age, and she assumes the woman can't be younger than thirty. The blonde can't make out her eyes completely in the darkness of the bar, but from what she can tell - they are as dark as her hair, but a guess is not enough - she wants to <em>know</em>. She briefly considers picking the lime wedge out of her drink and throwing it at the woman, just to get her to look in her direction. </p><p> </p><p>"Hugo!" The younger woman she's sitting with yells the bartender's name, pushing her empty pint glass towards him. She's pretty - a younger black woman, sporting her natural hair. Villanelle can't help but notice the pretty pastel colors she has stitched together her outfit; she realizes she is the first person she has seen with any semblance of fashion sense in Franklin. He recounts her with a glare, as he pours Coke to finish off Stephanie's drink. "Another beer, please!"</p><p> </p><p>He rolls his eyes, turning his body away from her in favor of placing the mixed drinks in front of her and Stephanie with a quick smile, before crossing his arms. "Get it yourself, Elena. I'm not your little bar slave."</p><p> </p><p>The young woman - Elena - drops her jaw in an overdramatic fashion, before flipping him off, and makes no move to get out of her seat. Villanelle smirks a little bit at that - whoever this Elena is, she likes her. "Hell no, I'm off shift." She states, pushing her glass further towards him with unrelenting eyes. "Which means I am drinking my well-deserved shift drink. So fetch it, bar boy." </p><p> </p><p>Hugo doesn't move from from the spot he's cemented his feet to, not until the dark-haired woman raises a threatening eyebrow at him. "Hugo." <em>Shit</em>. Her voice is.. <em>hot</em>. Low and raspy, reminiscent of a crackling fire, and it's embers are sparking something in Villanelle. </p><p> </p><p>Hugo huffs, before uncrossing his arms and grabbing the empty pint glass. He makes quite the scene of taking two steps over to put it under the tap. "It's not your shift drink if its the third time I've had to fill up your glass," he mumbles under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>She watches him, and Elena too.. filled with a certain curiosity, not in regard to them, but rather how the dark-haired stranger fits into their world. They serve as blueprints, something Villanelle can use to piece together the story she is currently being denied.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle?" Stephanie asks, voice heavy with inquisition, and her voice suddenly sounds shrill. Sharp. <em>Off-putting</em>. The younger woman has to bite her lip to keep it from curling in disgust. It is.. an intense reaction to have, especially when Stephanie's voice is fine, but compared to the sound of the dark-haired woman's voice.. it is reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. </p><p> </p><p>She gives the older woman a tight-lipped smile, before asking, "You never told me about how you like your job. Is it fun? Selling.. life insurance?" </p><p> </p><p>It is a ridiculous thing to ask, but the blonde is surprised she was able to even manage a question. Even if it was one she put absolutely no thought into, but she doesn't care. She didn't really care to begin with, but she can't bring herself to care when one of the most magnificent creatures she's ever seen is sat just a few chairs down from her. It is a relief when Stephanie shoots into a lengthy response at the question - she is happy to talk about herself, and Villanelle shoulder's relax with an exhale at buying time to look at the other woman. So close, yet so far away - because the curly-haired woman has not turned to look in Villanelle's direction once. It is infuriating, Villanelle thinks. She is used to commanding eye contact the moment she walks into a room - and now here she is, considering throwing fruit across a bar for a chance at eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>She is pulled from her half-listening trance when Hugo jumps away from the keg when the tap starts spurting a thick white foam over the front of his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>"Eve! The tap is fucking up again!" He yells, as if it's not completely visible.</p><p> </p><p>The younger woman - Elena, Villanelle corrects - is howling with laughter at the sight of his soaked shirt, but Villanelle can't focus on anything but the name he just uttered. <em>Eve</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Eve stands up from her seat at the bar, and rushes around until she's behind it, crouching down in front of a very disgruntled Hugo to adjust something underneath the counter. Villanelle watches as she yanks the hose connecting to the keg, and the spout stops spurting foam everywhere. The way she moves is fascinating to Villanelle - even if it is just fixing a faulty keg, her movements are determined, precise. She must be <em>really</em> great in bed. </p><p> </p><p>She blows out a raspberry before pulling herself into a standing position. "Go, change. I'll watch the bar." She pulls the empty glass out of his hand, and he scurries out from behind the bar mumbling a string of obscenities under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>She fills the pint glass with beer, before sliding it across to Elena, who accepts it with a <em>Thanks, babe.</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows knit together at the closeness of interaction - they all must be coworkers, obviously, but they seem closer than that. Like a very dysfunctional family. It is.. <em>weird</em>. If they are coworkers, then Eve must be.. <em>boss</em>? The thought sends a heat through Villanelle's legs. </p><p> </p><p>Eve turns around to survey whether any drinks need refreshing, in true bartender fashion, and it finally happens. She finally looks at Villanelle. They make eye contact - Villanelle confirming that <em>yes</em>, Eve's eyes are just as dark as her hair - and something happens. The world stills for a second, languid with the birth of something powerful, and a chill runs down the blonde's spine.  The movement Eve makes is small - a shudder, barely detectable but there - and so she knows the curly-haired woman must feel it too. Whatever it is.</p><p> </p><p><em>Desire</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle assumes that must be it.. but the feeling is dangerously unfamiliar.</p><p> </p><p>She figures it must be the highest level of desire she has felt in her life. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, that must be it. <em>Desire</em>. Untamed and overflowing.</p><p> </p><p>Whoever this Eve is, she wants to fuck the shit out of her. </p><p> </p><p>They are broken from whatever trance they were previously locked into when the older woman sat next to her clears her throat. She blinks - hand falling away from Stephanie's knee in favor clenching in her lap, because she suddenly feels very displeased with her presence - before looking at the older blonde, wide-eyed and tense. </p><p> </p><p>And then something ludicrous happens, something that never happens to her. Eve <em>ignores</em> her. Ignores her in favor of speaking to the blonde sat next to her. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh. Hi, Stephanie." She addresses her with a small, awkward smile - lacking sincerity, and overflowing with formality.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>They know each other?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hi Eve." Stephanie smiles - obviously a little uncomfortable given the younger woman's sudden lack of interest in her, but she continues on, cordially. "How is.. the homeowners insurance treating you?"</p><p> </p><p>God, this woman is<em> boooring.</em></p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks an eyebrow at that, rubbing residual foam from her fingers on her thighs, before answering. "Oh, uh.. fine, I guess? I haven't had to use it.. so I guess that's a good thing."</p><p> </p><p>Stephanie lets out an awkward laugh at that - and continues the conversation, in some weird attempt to be polite. She's on edge, Villanelle can tell. Maybe she is uncomfortable that Eve is seeing the two of them together, even if they haven't done anything. Stephanie <em>wants</em> to do something, though, and the guilt of it reads on her face.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, that's true. Home owners insurance is a lot cheaper than life insurance, at least. I guess that's the only good thing about divorce." </p><p> </p><p>Elena snorts at that - and Eve's eyebrow just climbs a little higher, her mouth parted slightly in disbelief. "Yeah.." She trails off, grabbing a rag, and that's when Villanelle notices it. The small tan line on her finger where a ring used to be, but no longer is. She's divorced.. recently divorced. <em>Interesting, very interesting</em>, Villanelle thinks.</p><p> </p><p>What's more interesting is the lengths Eve seems to be going to not look at her again.</p><p> </p><p>"Well you guys look good on drinks so I'm just gonna.." she trails off, not bothering to finish her sentence, as she turns her body away.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle picks up her glass and downs it in a single sip before she can turn around completely. She lets the glass fall against the bar top loudly, licking her lips, before raising her eyebrows at Eve. "Another, please." </p><p> </p><p>Stephanie stutters next to her, picking up her glass and sipping on it some attempt to keep up, and Eve just looks at her with raised eyebrows. This time, when she looks at her, she almost looks.. <em>annoyed</em>. It only stokes Villanelle's fire. She likes a challenge, after all, and where she didn't find one in Stephanie, she knows she most certainly has in Eve. </p><p> </p><p>Stephanie finishes her drink, Villanelle sees from her periphery, and she's been very polite about her sudden disinterest, but the older woman is just serving as a distraction now that Eve is standing in front of her. Stephanie opens her mouth to order another drink, but Villanelle chimes in. </p><p> </p><p>"I would like to drink alone, I have just decided." Villanelle states, emotionlessly, and the older woman's mouth falls open a bit. She opens and closes it - like a fish out of water - and Villanelle's shoulders lift in a small shrug as she offers an unconcerned, "Sorry?" </p><p> </p><p>Stephanie's body seems to undergo a moment of serious confusion - she squirms a bit, before reaching for her purse, and marching away from the bar with a huff. "<em>Ookay..</em>" Villanelle mouths silently, but her shoulders release a bit of tension when she hears the door click with her exit.</p><p> </p><p>Sure, she understands how that could read as a rejection - but in the end, she was doing Stephanie a favor. Now she doesn't have to harbor guilt about cheating on her husband with a woman half her age, and that is something to be happy about, no?</p><p> </p><p>Not everybody sees it that way, she realizes, when she looks back up to see Eve peering at her with an incredulous gaze. Her arms are crossed in front of her, and she's regarding Villanelle with a cocked eyebrow. "Are you always so.." she pauses, letting her eyes flicker to the door of the bar before letting them refocus on Villanelle, "rude?"</p><p> </p><p>"Rude?" Villanelle scrunches her nose up at the word, leaning her elbows forward on the bar, as she beings to question Eve. "How are you so sure I was being rude? How do you know she was not taking advantage of me?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes flicker back to the door, and <em>okay</em>, Villanelle really does not like when Eve looks away from her, she's realizing. Eve's eyes are still holding an incredulous cadence, but the blonde can see the subtle flame flickering underneath them. She raises her eyebrows. "Was she?"</p><p> </p><p>The way Eve asks it is.. <em>interesting</em>. She obviously does not believe Villanelle, but she is giving her the benefit of the doubt. The subtle heat of her irises leave the blonde to believe that if she were to say yes, that Eve would march out and teach Stephanie a thing or two about that. The other part of the blonde thinks that Eve is one of those people, like Konstantin, who has a built-in bullshit detector, and that she wouldn't believe a word out of Villanelle's lips if she decided to embark on some fictitious story about Stephanie's character. </p><p> </p><p>"No." Villanelle admits truthfully, shrugging her shoulders. "But she was annoying."</p><p> </p><p>Elena, who she had nearly forgotten was there, cackles at that, causing Eve to shoot daggers across the bar with her eyes. The young woman's eyes widen, as she leans forward, "Oh, c'mon, Eve! You know it's true."</p><p> </p><p>Elena turns her attention towards Villanelle, rolling her eyes, before recounting a story about Stephanie's previous visit to the bar. "Last time she was in here, she got plastered.. like <em>white-girl-wasted </em>plastered, and she wouldn't stop trying to sell everybody on some Auto insurance package for like three hours."</p><p> </p><p>Elena takes a sip of her beer, leaning back before adding, "I don't even drive." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts at that, and Eve looks between the two of them - wearily, as if she's disproving of whatever potential friendship could possibly blossom out of the interaction. It is fun, Villanelle thinks, when Eve wears that face. She didn't even do it on purpose - the Elena girl is just funny - but now that she has seen that face, she definitely wouldn't mind seeing it some more. </p><p> </p><p>Hugo is coming back into the bar, in a dry shirt, and Villanelle frowns when Eve makes move to return to her seat. "Wait!" She says hurriedly, causing both Eve and Hugo to look at her confusedly. "You did not make me my drink." She juts out her lower lip, pouting full-force, as she nudges her glass across the bar.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth drops open at that, and her eyebrow lifts before gesturing to Hugo. "Hugo is back. He can make it for you." She replies, before turning her back to leave once again, and Villanelle protests again when she sees Hugo grabbing a fresh glass. She does not want to enjoy a drink made by mousy Hugo, she wants to enjoy a drink made with <em>Eve's</em> hands.</p><p> </p><p>"I want <em>you</em> to do it for me." She relays, confidently - her lower lip retracting, and settling into a smug smile instead.</p><p> </p><p>The disbelief in Eve's eyes only grows, and Villanelle can hear the sound of her sucking her teeth, but Eve just shakes her head before grabbing the glass and pouring ice into it, while Hugo just watches with intrigue. She grabs the gin forcefully, before pouring a generous amount into the glass, and topping it off with tonic water. The blonde accepts it happily, straightening up in her seat, which elicits an eye roll from Eve - who just stomps out of the bar, before reclaiming her seat next to Elena. </p><p> </p><p>Again, Villanelle finds the whole thing.. <em>interesting</em>. There are many things about Eve that are interesting, it seems. For one, she very well could have just not made the drink, left the bar, and sat down without entertaining the idea. And sure, maybe the dark-haired woman just didn't want to have to put up with the blonde and that was the easy way out.. but Villanelle can't help but sense that something deep down in Eve compelled her to do it. But the other thing that is interesting is that Eve knew what she was drinking`- which means she was paying attention to the blonde long before she made any show of it; which means she took notice of the blonde from the moment she walked in the door, and sat down at the bar. And sure, maybe that is just bartender's instinct, to know what people want so you know what to sell them, but Villanelle can't help but sense that Eve feels it too - the <em>desire</em>, even if she is not.. forthcoming about it. </p><p> </p><p>She nurses her drink, sipping at it gingerly, while Elena and Eve dive back into whatever conversation they were having before Hugo decorated himself with beer foam - something about the New York subway system, and Elena being in a subway car with a family of rats who were eating out of a McDonalds bag. Eve lets out another one of those offensive laughs at that, and it really should annoy Villanelle - she snorts, for God's sake - but the blonde just finds it.. endearing, in a <em>I-still-want-to-have-sex-with-you-even-if-you-snort</em> kind of way. Eve has her back to her, but the young woman catches Elena's eyes over her the older woman's shoulder two times, before she tilts her chin up in Villanelle's direction. "What's your name?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve must kick Elena underneath the bar because the younger woman recoils with a yelp, before rubbing her leg, "What the <em>fuck</em>, Eve?!" </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes widen, increduously - Villanelle can make them out from her profile - as if she's shaming Elena for reacting. The dark-haired woman tries her best to recover, but she's speaking through gritted teeth, "She said she wanted to drink alone."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows the sip she just took, setting her drink back on the bar before replying, nonchalantly, "Oh, I don't mind the company. I'm feeling.." she lets her eyes rake over Eve's hair, before finishing, "<em>social</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Eve narrows her eyes, turning her body to face the blonde completely, "You just said you wanted to drink alone."</p><p> </p><p>"I change my mind a lot." Villanelle replies truthfully, with a shrug, before tearing her eyes away to look at Elena. "I am Villanelle." She see's Eve quirk an eyebrow from her periphery, but she maintains eye contact with the younger woman she's sat with.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle? Wow. <em>Cool</em>." Elena replies, raising her eyebrows in approval. "I'm Elena." She replies, eagerly, before nodding her head towards the direction of the mousy bartender. "That's Hugo." She says, a lot less eagerly this time, and the boy rolls his eyes before offering a small nod in Villanelle's direction, before going back to scrolling through his phone. "And this is.." Elena trails off, letting her hand rest on the Eve's shoulder,</p><p> </p><p>"Eve." The older woman supplies, looking straight ahead, as she sips her beer. <em>Eve</em>. God, it sounds so good rolling off of her own lips. She wants to Eve hear her say her name now - she wants to hear her say it many times over, in many different octaves. But right now, Eve is not even paying attention to her, and that just won't do.</p><p> </p><p>"And you all.. work together?" Villanelle asks, taking a sip of her drink, as she looks between the three of them with genuine curiosity. Her primary focus is learning about Eve, of course, but Eve fits into this - and the blonde is a little surprised at the mere existence of these people's presence in Franklin.</p><p> </p><p>"Yep!" Elena replies, letting her mouth pop as she releases the P. "Eve owns the bar, and we are her hard-working, devoted, priceless employees."</p><p> </p><p>Eve snorts into her beer at that, but a small smile plays at her lips. <em>Hm, is she prettier when she's smiling or annoyed?</em> Villanelle can't tell. "Priceless? That's interesting. I'll remember that when the next pay period rolls around."</p><p> </p><p>Elena leans forward, resting her chin in her hands, and her bubbly energy radiates around the questions she asks, "What about you? What do you for work? Why are you here?" The questions fall from her lips quickly, but she catches herself before adding, "Sorry. It is not often we get out-of-towners. Especially young, hot, well-dressed.." Eve must have kicked her under the bar again, because the younger woman recoils with another yelp, before shooting the older woman a glare. "Eve, you have got to stop doing that. Let me have this, for fuck's sake. It is tiring being the only well-dressed person in Franklin!" She tears her eyes away from Eve, in favor of refocusing her attention on Villanelle, gesturing to the jacket she has draped over her chair. "I know designer when I see it, and that jacket is deffo designer."</p><p> </p><p>"Dolce." The blonde releases the word with a click of her tongue, and a warm smile.</p><p> </p><p>"I knew it!" Elena yells, bouncing in her seat in the process.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs quietly, at that. Villanelle usually does not like high-energy people. She's very conservative with her energy; how she chooses to expend it. If its not for her work, or for luxury, or for a <em>really</em> good lay.. then what's the point? High-energy people tend to be <em>take, take, take</em> and the blonde often leaves those interactions feeling.. sucked dry, but something about Elena just makes her want to answer all of the young woman's questions. Elena is likable; charming.. and Villanelle thinks her night would probably be a lot easier if she was the one the blonde wanted to take home, but she's not. Eve is.. and Eve is, well.. <em>unreadable</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is sitting there, sipping her beer, wearing a look akin to an elderly man who has resigned himself to a life of jaded bitterness. Where as Elena is eagerly hanging on every last word the blonde has to offer, the more Villanelle speaks, the more Eve seems to grow a.. distaste for her. It is not the same face Eve was wearing when she relented into making a Gin and Tonic for a blonde, no - this one is.. worn, annoyed,<em> put out.</em> Villanelle's eyebrows knit together as she studies it, a frown deepening her features. This time, it is her turn to be annoyed. </p><p> </p><p>Elena snaps her out of her thoughts, when she gestures for the blonde to take the empty seat next to Eve, and Villanelle slides out the bar stool she was occupying, and slithers into the seat next to the dark-haired woman - somewhat begrudgingly. She feels slightly.. uncomfortable; it is an unfamiliar feeling. While she loves to make other people uncomfortable, she does not like it when the feeling is returned. Sitting next to Eve, in her current.. <em>ruminative</em>.. state makes her feel that way, but there is another feeling, too. The close contact - their thighs only being a couple inches apart, it feels.. <em>electric</em>. And who is Villanelle to deny a spark?</p><p> </p><p>The pros outweigh the cons after all - Eve is a grump, and it is.. <em>annoying</em>, but she is also very attracted to Eve. When she is sat this close, she is able to make out Eve's features a little more clearly. The swoop of her neck, the way her hair curls around her shoulder like its giving it a hug, the small pout of her lower lip. Villanelle is no stranger to the feeling of being simultaneous existence of annoyance and attraction. It has existed many times for her before - it just seems to be taking on a new shape, this time. A shape she intends to figure out, a shape she intends to know every corner of until it is out of her system.</p><p> </p><p>"So," Elena says, taking another sip of her beer, and crossing her legs to face Villanelle more directly, "what brings you to Franklin?"</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh. Right. </em>She didn't even realize that she hadn't answered the woman's question - she had just gotten so used to dodging them, that she sometimes does it without intending to. She steels herself with a smile, regaining an air of confidence as she moves to match Elena's body language, until they're both sat - pointed at one another, with a very disgruntled Eve caught in the middle.</p><p> </p><p>"I am an interior decorator." She relays, sipping her own drink before continuing, and <em>God</em> - Eve really did have a heavy hand with this one. She cringes a bit as she she inevitably takes a sip that is just pure Gin. "The client I am working for purchased a home here. I just arrived today, actually." </p><p> </p><p>Elena's grin spreads so wide, Villanelle wonders if her face might actually split in two. "Interior decorator? That is so <em>cool</em>! Did you hear that, Eve?" Eve just grunts in response, and Elena continues - not taking note of Eve's reaction. "How do you like Franklin so far?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, it is shit." </p><p> </p><p>There are two laughs in response this time - Elena's, which is genuine and understanding, and Eve's which sounds more like a scorned cackle. The older woman just shakes her head, and Villanelle bites her lip - she has already exerted enough patience with Stephanie tonight, she has very little left for Eve. That's what she tells herself, at least. She ignores the feeling that Eve's rejection - even her little ones - seems to send a dull stab to the blonde's gut. </p><p> </p><p>"Something to say, Eve?" She bites her lip, her hands gripping her glass a little too tightly, before letting her eyes fix on the older woman's face. </p><p> </p><p>"Something to say, sure. Is it worth saying? I don't know." Eve releases a cold laugh into the foam of her beer, before taking a large sip. </p><p> </p><p>"Mm, well, I am not fond of.. passive aggressive communication, so why don't you just say it?" Villanelle tests her, but she feels it inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>A reaction. The feeling of anger - bubbling in her stomach, and spreading to her chest. She usually does not entertain it with strangers - she does what she needs to do, and moves on. But Eve, there is something <em>very</em> aggravating about Eve's silence. It pokes and prods - it is not something she can just.. walk away from, <em>no</em>, she has to know exactly what it entails. </p><p> </p><p>"I am not being passive aggressive." Eve hisses, and when she lets her eyes fall on Villanelle, the blonde think's the red glow emanating from the bar in her irises is a little too.. <em>fitting</em>. There is a fire inside of Eve, and it is threatening to spill, and more interestingly, Villanelle wants to watch it happen. She wants to watch the flames grow until they're no longer containable.</p><p> </p><p>When the younger woman just cocks an eyebrow at the blatant lie, Eve rolls her eyes, before continuing. "I just know your type. Knew it from the moment you walked in here. All you had to do was confirm it - which you just did." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can see Elena's mouth fall open a little behind Eve, but now the subtle anger is spreading into something larger - she can feel it ringing in her ears, and she can't really focus on anything but the presumptuous, dark-haired woman in front of her. She leans in a little closer, propping her chin on her hand; letting her voice take a tone that is mocking and provoking, "And how did I do that, Eve? What is my type, hm?" She prods.</p><p> </p><p>Elena tries her best, tries desperately to interject and pull the level to keep the train from derailing and running off course, but the lever is stuck. "I noticed your accent, Villanelle. What is that? German?" She asks, her voice overly chipper as it tries to lessen the blow of whatever the fuck is about is about to happen her. Eve turns her back to Elena, in favor of squaring her shoulders and facing Villanelle head-on. Maybe the train will not go off the tracks, maybe it will simply just run head-on to another train that is coming its direction full-speed. </p><p> </p><p>"Russian." She snaps back, not tearing her eyes away from Eve, and she's about to poke a little further, but Eve opens her mouth, and the words are flowing before Villanelle has the chance to counter them.</p><p> </p><p>"You're a brat, Villanelle." <em>God</em>, the blonde finally gets to hear her name leaves those lips, and it is not at all in the way she had hoped it would be. She hates that she still loves the sound of it. It just makes her more angry.</p><p> </p><p>"You're entitled. You get to march into whatever town you're sent into, decide whether it's up to your standards, whether it is <em>shit </em>or not," Eve flexes her fingers, and it's the angriest display of air quotes the blonde has ever seen, "and then you get to leave. You don't have to think about the people who live there - because why would you? It doesn't affect you. You probably don't have to think of anybody but yourself. Not everybody has the same opportunities - not that it even matters, because you're probably just as miserable as the rest of us! You're just a rich, entitled, little brat." Eve exhales as she releases the word, falling back in her seat, and it is nothing less than a visual depiction of tension leaving the body. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just stares at her - maybe in disbelief, because it's rare that she meets somebody that is more of an asshole than herself, but maybe it's just because she's seething. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You're probably just as miserable as the rest of us!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yep, it's the latter. She's <em>definitely</em> seething. </p><p> </p><p>"Jesus, Eve." Elena breathes out, and she manages to tear her eyes from the older woman to get a gauge on Elena's face - to figure out whether this is normal behavior from the bar owner. But Elena's face is twisted into a shocked horror, and when she looks to Hugo, who is wearing a similar expression, she realizes it's probably not.</p><p> </p><p>Sure, Eve is<em> tightly wound</em>.. Villanelle knew it form the moment she saw her, she just speculated about the different ways she could untie that knot - and those ways looked a lot more fun than whatever the fuck this is. But something set Eve over the edge, and that something was.. <em>her</em>. Villanelle untied her knot just by.. existing, by walking into her bar, sending her into a rage with simple conversation. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's breathing picks up - and she's squeezing the glass in her hand so tightly, she wonders if she might break it just by sheer force. But she attempts to steady herself, not for Eve's sake, but for the sake of not giving Eve a reaction. She replies with a calculated tone; a snipped tone, "You're projecting, aren't you, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve whips her head to stare at Villanelle, and she sets her glass so firmly on the bar top that beer flies out of the top of it. "What did you just say?"</p><p> </p><p><em>Ah</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes you just hit the nail on the head.</p><p> </p><p>Or sometimes you recognize a behavior because it very same one you exhibit.</p><p> </p><p>"I said, you're projecting." Villanelle replies, cooly, sipping drink in hopes it will cool down the fire she's sure is dancing in her eyes. She sets it on the table before leaning closer to Eve, invading her space - because that is what Eve just did to her, <em>emotionally</em>, so she will do the same, <em>physically</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"It is the only reasonable explanation for what just happened. I mean, <em>Jesus</em>, Eve, we barely scratched the surface of small-talk before you were yelling in my face. I didn't even get the chance to ask why you were here, in Franklin, and now I do not think I need to. You are here, because you are stuck, huh?" The flame in Eve's eyes rescinds only slightly, and the small recoil in her posture is enough for Villanelle to know she found the wound, so she decides to poke her finger into it, "Ah, yes. It all makes sense now. The whole spiel about me getting to come and go, stay or leave - it is because you do not have a choice. You resent that."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snickers, downing the rest of her drink in one sip, before leaning in to invade the woman's space once more. She does not care if it makes her uncomfortable - not after Eve has disregarded her comfort. An eye for an eye. Villanelle has always liked the idea of the whole world being blind. It seems better that way. "</p><p> </p><p>Well, guess what, Eve? It is not my fault that you are miserable. In fact, I have <em>nothing</em> to do with it. I just made the simple mistake of walking into your <em>shitty</em> little bar - my own fault, I realize. But at least I can admit it." </p><p> </p><p>Eve looks taken aback - and it isn't until she's standing up, and Villanelle is putting her jacket on that she realizes the bar has gone completely silent. Some oldies song plays clearly through the speakers, but the sound of pool balls hitting together has halted, and the sound of Hugo clinking glasses together as he cleans the bar no longer provides any background noise.</p><p> </p><p><b>♪ </b> <em>All I want you to do is to bake your bread<br/>Just to make sure that you're well fed<br/> I don't want you sad and blue<br/>And I just wanna make love to you </em> <b>♪</b></p><p> </p><p>When she looks around, everybody is regarding them with silent stares, open-mouthed. Elena, Hugo, the two men playing pool.. everybody aside from Eve.</p><p> </p><p>No, Eve looks like she's imagining the different ways she could commit murder in her own bar, and get away with it. Her eyes are alit with a delicious fire - one that would serve to tempt Villanelle in any other setting - but right now, it just makes her way to break every glass behind the stupid <em>fucking</em> bar. </p><p> </p><p>Eve leans forward, her jaw is tense as she enunciates the only two words she gives the blonde, "Screw. <em>You</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle releases a cold, humorless laugh at that. <em>Wow</em>, this woman really does not give up. It's infuriating. She is itchy with the feeling of irritation, and she hates herself for being so affected. The devil does not live under the soil of the Earth, no, the devil has beautiful, curly hair and lives in Franklin, Pennsylvania. </p><p> </p><p>With that, she turns her back, and walks out of the bar - but not before throwing Eve the middle finger over her shoulder as she stomps out of the bar, ignoring the sound of Hugo's annoying voice as he protests with a, "<em>Wait</em>!" </p><hr/><p>She makes it back to her hotel in record time - she is staying nearby, after all, because Franklin is the smallest <em>fucking</em> place to ever have existed. Or maybe it just feels that way, because she can still feel Eve's anger - the radiating spark of her energy - from her hotel room. She didn't even bother to call a car; she walked the entire way, because if she had pent-up energy before.. oh, it's threatening to <em>destroy</em> her now.</p><p> </p><p>She collapses on her back on the bed, and she clenches her fingers into the sheets and wonders why the fuck she did not get that Stephanie's lady's phone number. She could really use the company right now - and with the energy thats spilling from out of her pores, she's sure she would show Stephanie the best night of her life. She's sure of it.</p><p> </p><p>Except she isn't. Because she doesn't wish Stephanie was here and the realization is devastating. It's devastating because, as she slips her hand under the waistband of her trousers atop her fully-made hotel bed, she does not think of Stephanie. When she lets her hand slide under her underwear, she doesn't think of blonde hair - no. She thinks of dark, cascading curls. She thinks of furrowed brows. </p><p> </p><p>And when she comes, she does so powerfully - and she thinks of Eve's fiery eyes reflecting the red light of the bar. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just lays there afterwards - trousers undone, still fully clothed on top of the covers, and she lets her breathing even out, and hopes the feeling in her chest turns into something calm, something sleepy, something that will allow her to close her eyes and forget the hellish night she just subjected herself to.</p><p> </p><p>But sleep doesn't come, and neither does movement. She makes no move to get up from the bed,  to change into her pajamas, to do anything, really. All she can think about is how one action can disrupt the course of your life, if you're not careful. And sure, she knows she's being overdramatic, her life will continue on as soon as she leaves Pennsylvania and returns to London - but right now, she can't focus on anything but the present. </p><p> </p><p>She woke up in some semblance of a good mood this morning. And now, as she tries to welcome sleep in any capacity, it evades her - because she is too frustrated for her body to relax. So, yes, it is funny how one action can fuck up your entire night. She tries to think of what could have happened if she had not walked into some dimly-lit bar named <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>; tries to think what could have happened if she had not met Eve fucking Polastri. </p><p> </p><p>But she can't, so she just lays awake for a very long time. Fuming, and confused.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okay, I edited the series an inconclusive amount of chapters, but that is only temporary! it'll be less than 10 chapters, for sure, but I probably won't have an idea of the exact amount until we near closer to the mid-way mark! until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter! </p><p>I don't have much else to add except to extend my gratitude to those of you who continue to read, and comment, and engage! I really do feel such a fondness for writing this pair - and it's a really fun challenge to write them out of their normal setting. I hope ya'll like this one as much as the first! thank you so much!</p><p>as always, well wishes and hope you're all taking care! &lt;3 xoxo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Villanelle wakes up the next morning, she showers. Again.</p><p>She had showered the night before - finally pulling herself from the hotel bed, to wash away whatever lingering anger was still rolling off her skin, but it didn't do much. By the end of it, her skin was just flushed red from the scalding water hitting it for twenty-minutes straight, but she still felt.. exactly the same. She didn't know what she expected - looking at her reflection, post-shower. She expected some kind of Eve-free transformation to take place, to loosen the tension in her eyes - but she looked the same. Still angry, but as if she tried to give herself a third-degree burn in the process.</p><p>She settled on raiding the hotel's minibar - and sure, the room is on the company card, but Konstantin will understand the two mini-shooters of vodka as result of having to work for Carolyn Martens, something well deserved. </p><p>It wasn't until she was half-drunk, half-watching some early 2000's rom-com playing on the television screen, that she eventually found sleep. </p><p>But now she's awake again.</p><p>When she opens her eyes, and the first image she sees behind them is an image of curly, dark hair - she considers jumping out of the hotel window.</p><p>Okay, she doesn't <em>really</em> consider it. She would not give Eve the benefit of eliciting such a reaction from her. Also, she would never allow her death to take place in a hotel, too.. <em>tacky</em>. So, she settles for another shower.</p><p>If she can't emotionally scrub the image of the disgruntled bar-owner from her brain, maybe a (second) physical attempt with allow her some peace of mind to get through the day. So, this time, when she washes her hair underneath the faucet, she imagines the suds rolling down her legs and into the drain as fragments of the night before. Gone, floating into some sewage system, only to be carried far, far away and never remembered. It feels ceremonial - like a baptism of sorts. It is a rite of admission into a realm where Eve does not exist. And when she turns the water off, she convinces herself that it works. For now.</p>
<hr/><p>She arrives at the house just on time to let the painters in. She feels rejuvenated - both from her second shower, and the half-coffee, half-cream-and-sugar concoction she had made herself before leaving the hotel. She needed the energy today.</p><p>Being in the Victorian home allows some comfort. Work always does - being able to throw herself into something completely, especially when it serves as means of distraction - and if anything, she just feels motivated to up the ante with Carolyn's home. The more risks she takes, the more thought she has to put into executing them perfectly. </p><p>And so, that is exactly what she will do. She will have to dedicate all of her mental energy to furnishing Carolyn Marten's home, in the riskiest fashion yet, so that she will not have the time, nor space, to allow for a single thought of Eve. </p><p>While the painters begin their work on the walls of the living room, Villanelle grabs her laptop, and sets herself up on the wooden porch steps that lead up to the home. It is a sunny day - the rays of warmth seeping into the blonde's skin, in that clear-cut way only the East Coast sun can, with no humidity as the season slips from Spring to Summer. She hums contentedly, as she types in the name of Carolyn's favorite New York designers, and throws herself completely into clicking on every available couch they have to offer - well <em>almost</em> every one, she doesn't click on a single gray, or white, or black piece.</p><p>The morning stretches into afternoon, and she doesn't move from her place on the steps until she has made three separate calls to the warehouse inquiring about the three couches she has narrowed it down to. She has to know every specific detail - where it was made, when it was made, what materials were used and how they were sourced, and she doesn't relent - not even when the assistant on the other end of the line can't provide answers to her specified questions. </p><p>"Yes, I know that Oak is the frame material. I can see that on your website. <em>Jesus</em>." Villanelle sighs into the phone, rolling her eyes, "But I need to know whether it is red Oak or white Oak. Red is not nearly as rot-resistant as white." </p><p>"Ma'am, I do not have that information on-hand." The assistant clips back, and Villanelle raises an eyebrow at her tone. "I would have to call the designer directly to find out."</p><p>"Great," Villanelle chirps in reply, leaning back on the steps, "I'll hold."</p><p>The assistant huffs into the phone, not saying a word, but Villanelle accepts her win when the noise is replaced by hold music. </p><p>She really could say something about the assistant's customer service skills - because <em>fuck</em>, they are lacking. But she will hold her tongue - this time. The blonde is not usually so.. <em>excessive</em>, when it comes to the specifics of the furniture, but when she is taking a risk as big as this, she knows she has to be able to answer whatever bizarre question Carolyn might throw at her - which means she has to be excessively thorough. For this reason only, she will take mercy on the woman on the other end of the phone. </p><p>The line clicks back into life fifteen minutes later, and Villanelle straightens her posture at the sound of the voice carrying through, "Ma'am, are you still there?" The assistant asks in an exasperated tone, and Villanelle rolls her eyes again. <em>God, she has had enough time to get over it by now. </em></p><p>"Yep." Oksana replies slowly, releasing the word with a pop.</p><p>"The material is white Oak." The assistant relays.</p><p>"Great." Villanelle replies, letting her eyes flicker to the accent chairs on her computer screen that belong to a different collection, but the same designer. "Does that apply to the accent chairs as well?"</p><p>The assistant huffs, honest-to-God <em>huffs</em>, and Villanelle's jaw drops a little bit at that, "Yes, every piece we currently have by that designer is white Oak."</p><p>Villanelle hums, letting her eyes gloss over the pieces she's selected on her screen in a final confirmation before responding, "In that case, I will place an order for the Regal Purple wide-armed velvet sectional, and two of the Tuscan Sun wing-back velvet accents chairs." </p><p>The assistant sputters a bit on the other end of line, and Villanelle smirks as she waits for the woman to collect herself, "Oh, uh, okay." She hears some typing on the other end of the line, and the assistant's voice is a lot more.. <em>merry</em>.. when she resumes speaking, "I will just need to get your contact info, the address you would like shipped to, and your card number - if you don't mind." </p><p>"Oh, I don't mind," Villanelle replies breezily, before moving her laptop off her lap so she can speak into the phone a little more clearly, "What I <em>do</em> mind is the amount of the patience I have had to exercise since being on the phone with you. I assume, from your tone, that you did not expect that I intended to place a thirty-thousand dollar order, hm?" Villanelle questions, and she waits - she wants to hear the assistant reply, wants to hear a rebuttal - because while the blonde was feeling merciful moments earlier, the fifteen-minute hold allowed an unresolved anger to bubble up in her chest yet again. And sure, maybe directing it at the young assistant at the Designer Warehouse is not person she would like to be directing it at - but it is what she has to work with, under the current circumstances.</p><p>The assistant sputters again, "Uh, ma'am, I'm sorry if I-" Villanelle rolls her eyes again, cutting her off. She hates apologies that include the word <em>If</em>. Useless. Insult to injury.</p><p>"You didn't." She answers for her. "That's fine. But I am, and so I hope this is something you will consider in the future." Villanelle replies, sharply, before asking again, "Tell me, is your position commissioned? I understand it is not the case for all front-desk sales positions, but is yours?" </p><p>"I.. uh, yes, ma'am. It is." The assistant replies, softly; meekly.</p><p>"Mm, good. I am doing you a favor then." Villanelle examines her cuticles, losing inertia, because she thought this would make her feel better - an exertion of energy, some sort of small victory after a morning of losses, but it just.. is not doing it. But she will follow through, because that is what she does. "By calling, I am placing my order with you directly - which means the form you are about to submit will have your name on it, which also means that you will get a commission for this sale. Something that would not happen if I were to place my order online, which I easily could have, no?" Villanelle asks, rhetorically. She clears her throat, sitting up as she closes out her argument, "But I did not. Lucky for you, I had a question about the type of Oak. A question you were.. reluctant to answer, if I had to guess from your <em>shit</em> tone." She enunciates the word, pointedly, letting venom flow through each letter.</p><p>The line stays silent for a beat, or two. </p><p>"Ma'am, I'm sincerely sorry. I did not mean to offend you." She offers, weakly.</p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes - whatever she expected to get out of this, she is not getting. </p><p>"I do not care for your apologies. I just hope this is something you will consider in the future when somebody asks you a question about fucking <em>wood</em>." She sighs, grabbing her wallet from the step it is resting on, and pulling out the company card before relaying, "I will be paying for expedited shipping, as I need these to arrive within the week. Are you ready for my card number?"</p><p>"Uh," she hears some frantic clicking on the other end of the line, before the stuttering assistant's voice returns, "yes, ma'am, I am ready whenever you are."</p><p>"Great!" Villanelle's voice regains a level of chirpiness that has not been present throughout the phone call, as she gives her info to the woman, "The number is.."</p>
<hr/><p>Villanelle finally gets up from her place on the step, standing to stretch, when her stomach lets out a small growl with the movement. She sighs, glancing at her phone, as she rests a hand on her stomach.</p><p>
  <em>4:03 P.M.</em>
</p><p>Hm, not bad. She had already made it seven hours - during which time the painters had finished the extent of the living room, she had purchased three pieces of furniture, and she had thought about nothing but Carolyn's home during the time. Oh, and she had also bestowed a hefty sale upon a lousy, undeserving assistant. She really is doing God's work. </p><p>Most importantly though, she had made it nearly half the day without thinking about.. <em>No</em>. She kicks herself. She will not allow herself an inch of thought regarding the previous night; that includes the name of the bar owner. She is running a great streak, but she will need fuel to continue it through the day. And more caffeine. </p><p>She pops her head into the house, relaying to the painters, "I am going to step out for a while. Please try not to.. <em>fuck</em> anything up while I am gone." She requests, and they all respond in a chorus of slow nods. </p><p>She walks to a nearby cafe - one that she has passed many times on her way to the house, but has not yet stepped foot into. It's a mom and pop shop, she realizes, when she steps inside. They have rows of freshly-baked croissants, donuts, and sandwiches.. and the coffee smells.. <em>divine</em>. Much better than the burnt hotel shit she had been drinking for the past two days. </p><p>When she gets to the counter, she is greeted by a younger woman - brunette, thick brows, pretty, maybe a couple years younger than Villanelle. "Hi," she offers a shy smile, her eyes raking over Villanelle's features and Villanelle knows admiration when she sees it - but this is <em>definitely</em> flirtation. <em>Wow</em>, the blonde's eyebrows raise, the <em>small town of Franklin has surprised her yet again</em>. </p><p>"Hi." She replies back, a smirk tugging up the corners of her mouth. "Can I get an iced vanilla latte with oat milk, a butter croissant, and.." she lets her eyes trails to the bakery case, before throwing the employee a playful glance, "a dozen donuts, please? Surprise me." </p><p>The woman nods slowly, letting her eyes linger on Villanelle's for a moment, before going to the case and picking up an assortment of donuts to place into the box. She scrunches her nose up when the woman grabs a creme-filled, but they aren't for her, after all. She's getting them for the painters. It is not so much an act of kindness, as much as it is an unspoken business gesture. It's a simple fact - the more you make somebody feel rewarded for their labor, the better of a job they tend to do.. whether it is conscious or subconscious. </p><p>The woman plops the box on the counter, before picking up a cup and hovering her sharpie over it. "What's your name?" She asks, her eyes embodying a very specific kind of curiosity. </p><p>"V." Villanelle replies, her smirk still firmly in place.</p><p>"Just V?" She asks, cocking an eyebrow at the the blonde.</p><p>"Just V." Villanelle confirms. She returns the woman's eye contact confidently, until the younger woman has to tears her eyes away - busying herself with the coffee machine. Villanelle bites back a laugh at that.</p><p>It is similar to how if you reward somebody for their labor accordingly, they will work better. The less information you give somebody about yourself, the more interested they become. Life is just one big game - and Villanelle prides herself on knowing how to play it. </p><p>She watches as the employee - <em>Juliet</em>, her name tag reads - busies herself with packing the espresso into a tapper, before plugging it into the machine and pulling a shot. <em>She's pretty</em>, Villanelle thinks, <em>really pretty, actually</em>. Villanelle will be done working in a few hours, and Juliet would serve as a more-than-welcome distraction.. so the blonde's brow furrows when her stomach churns a little, at the thought. In the same place where excitement usually pools at the prospect, there is a.. <em>discomfort</em>. She lays a palm on the flat of her stomach, where the feeling settles into a dull ache. </p><p>The employee sets her coffee on the table, before glancing at Villanelle's twisted face with a concerned look, "Are you okay?"</p><p>And Villanelle takes the moment to study her face, a bit more. Juliet shrinks under the eye contact.</p><p>What is it about her that is making Villanelle not want to pursue? She's.. <em>younger</em>, and Villanelle rarely, if ever, goes for younger women. Maybe that's it.</p><p>"Fine." She shakes her head, and the word falls off her lips a little sharper than expected, she realizes when Juliet's eyes widen at the sound. "How much do I owe you?" Villanelle asks, instead of attempting to recover, because she is slowly accepting that while she does not know what her night will look like - it probably will not involve the pretty, brunette stranger. </p><p>"Uh, $17.50." She replies, letting her hand tap on the counter, while Villanelle opens her wallet.</p><p>Her eyebrows knit together when her debit card is not in its usual spot, and she looks through the surrounding slots to no avail. Shit.</p><p>When did she use it last? Last night at..</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p><em>You have to be fucking kidding me</em>. </p><p>Villanelle's eyes widen, and she stills for a moment as she feels another dull stab in her stomach. She swallows the feeling, pulling out the company card and handing it to the young woman who is stood there, watching her. </p><p>She runs the card, and hands it back to Villanelle with a payment slip. She tips 30%, figures its a way of saying <em>Sorry for malfunctioning in your shop! That was weird!</em>, and she leaves without another word. </p><p>She's walking quickly down the street, weighing her options as she makes her way back to the house.</p><p>She could just.. cancel her card? Have a replacement sent?</p><p>It's a ludicrous idea, and Villanelle nearly guffaws at it. Since when has she ever been the type to be avoidant? Especially with a stranger? But the problem is that Eve is.. not a stranger. Eve is a weird kind of siren, or something - singing a silent song that allows Villanelle thoughts to redirect her ship towards the curly-haired woman, which is.. <em>exactly</em> what is happening right now.</p><p>Villanelle's hand tightens around her coffee cup. She had gone a solid half-day with no thought of the woman, and here she is - walking down the street, angry all over again, because of a fucking <em>thought</em>? What is happening to her? Is she becoming one of those people who's job is ruining their lives - is that what this is? Is working for Carolyn stressing her out in some way, and it's just bleeding into her personal life and Eve is just the shape that is happening to take?</p><p>She could just swing by the bar tonight, pray that Eve isn't there, and leave before there is a chance of the two of them making contact? </p><p><em>Again</em>. She is not the type to be avoidant. </p><p>She sturdies herself - quickening her pace, as she crosses the street.</p><p>She will go to the shitty little bar, collect her shitty little debit card, and if shitty Eve is there with her beautiful curls and dark eyes - then <em>good</em>, Villanelle is owed an apology. In fact, she can't believe she is convincing herself to go when she should be going on her own accord.</p><p>She should not leave Franklin, Pennsylvania until Eve apologizes to her. </p><p>Her phone buzzing in her pocket snaps her away from her thoughts, and she readjusts the bag in her arm to pull it out. When she looks at it, and sees <em>Konstantin</em> across the screen, she groans. Now is really not the time.</p><p>Konstantin keeps a watchful eye on the company's credit card statements, so the blonde would not be surprised if he had already noticed the charge from the hotel minibar. She can not handle being chastised over barbie-sized vodka shooters right now. </p><p>She sighs, before answering and putting the phone up to her ear. "Konstantin, it was two little bottles of Vodka, for fuck's safe. I will Venmo you for them right now if its that important." </p><p>"Vodka?" He asks confusedly, "What are you talking about?"</p><p>"Nothing," she sighs, exasperatedly, "What do you want, Konstantin?"</p><p>He tuts from the other end of the line, and Villanelle can imagine him sitting as his desk, wearing some dumb scarf, "Villanelle, is that any way to talk to your loving friend?"</p><p>"Yes." She replies, sharply - usually she does not mind entertaining the old man's conversation - <em>usually</em> - but right now, she feels like throwing her phone at a brick wall. </p><p>"Okay, let me try that again." His voice lowers into a tone that he uses whenever he wants the blonde to take him seriously, "Is that any way to talk to your boss?"</p><p>"Still, yes." She replies again, sharper. </p><p>"No, Villanelle." He laughs in reply - a hearty <em>hyuck</em> - and Villanelle smiles smally at the sound, shaking her head. She has heard it one million times, but she's always surprised at just how absurd it is that a noise like that exists. So.. <em>stupid</em>.</p><p>"Has anybody ever told you when you laugh you sound like the dog from the cartoon?" She prods, turning the corner onto Carolyn's street, still jugging the bags and coffee in one hand. "Mickey Mouse's friend?"</p><p>"..Goofy? Wow, even I know that. Your knowledge of pop culture is lacking, Villanelle." He bellows, again, and she pulls the phone away from her ear. "And, no."</p><p>She rolls her eyes, finally arriving at Carolyn's house and setting the bag on the steps, in favor of placing a hand on her hip. "Why are you calling, Konstantin?"</p><p>"I can call just to check up on you, you know," She raises an eyebrow at that, because, while he can do that, he never does. When Konstantin calls, there is a reason. If he wants to check up on her, he just texts her a stupid string of emojis. She waits, and after a beats of silence, he continues. "How are things going with Carolyn's house?" He asks, suspiciously.</p><p>"Great. I am making <em>great</em> progress." She bites her lip, looking at the Victorian home, and that's about all she feels comfortable relaying to the man. If she were to tell him she was dating a slight detour from Carolyn's request, he would have a heart attack. Another one. That would be bad.</p><p>Somebody needs to pay her, after all.</p><p>"I see." He says, and she can hear the skepticism rounding out his words. "Then why did Kenny tell me you called to ask him about what colors Carolyn likes?" </p><p><em>Kenny</em>. What a snitch.</p><p>He will be receiving a text very shortly.</p><p>"Because I was.. curious?" She draws her shoulders up as she offers the response, well-aware that Konstantin can't see her. It's only a half-lie, after all.</p><p>"No, Villanelle!" He groans from the other end of the line, and she can envision him pouting in his office chair. Sulking, like a big sheep dog. "Carolyn does not like color! You <em>know</em> this, I <em>know</em> this so why do you ask such things?" </p><p>She rolls her eyes, letting her head fall back, before pacing on the porch of the home. "When have I ever let you down, Konstantin?" She instantly regrets the question as it leaves her lips.</p><p>"Generally, or at work?" He asks, his voice heavy with a thousand personal examples he could list as evidence, but those are <em>personal</em>, after all. She is his best decorator, and he knows it. </p><p>"Konstantin," she says his name seriously, pinching the bridge of her nose, because even she has managed to underestimate how not in the mood she is for this, "I have never let you down on a project. Why would I start now, and taint my perfect track record? It is going to be fine. <em>Great</em>. I think it is going to be my best work yet." She relays, truthfully, because the amount of energy she is already expending into this home is substantial.</p><p>"Really?" He asks, his voice equal parts skepticism and intrigue. He knows Villanelle holds the capacity to make or break anything - destroy or create anything, and it puts the man on a constant state of edge. But that is why her work is acclaimed - nothing is extraordinary unless it involves risk. </p><p>"Yes. Can I go now?" She pouts, desperate to get off the phone, and eat her croissant. </p><p>"Fine, but Villanelle, remember I am trusting you massively with this." He chides, and she lets out an offended huff. </p><p>"Good, because I have never given you a reason not to." <em>True</em>. "Bye, Konstantin!" She half-yells into the phone, before hanging up the call, and opening the Messages app. She shoots a text off to Kenny.</p><p>
  <em>You are very lucky I am not in London right now.</em>
</p><p>She slips the phone into her pocket. She bends down to pick up the bag, and her coffee - but a flash of Sharpie on the coffee cup catches her eye. </p><p>It is then when she notices the phone number sprawled across her coffee cup accompanied by a loopy name - <em>Juliet</em>. She stares at it for a moment, waiting for that familiar drive - that familiar eagerness to come - but it doesn't. No, just that same dull, pain pools in her stomach again. She bites her bottom lip so hard, that she can feel blood draw on the inside of her mouth.</p><p>She carries the bag inside.</p><p>The painters accept the donuts happily, pulling themselves away from their work to eat them and chat with her about their progress. They are half-way complete - the kitchen, living room, and lower level bathroom are all finished - and they expect to done with the upper floor tomorrow. Villanelle surveys their work with a satisfactory nod. The purple is perfect - the sun, threatening to soon set, reflects off it beautifully and allows the space to feel as open as it should, but it's subtle enough that it shouldn't send Carolyn running for the hills. </p><p>She tears pieces of the croissant off with her fingers, shoving it into her mouth as she watches them pack up their gear. They're just about done for the day, and so is she. The soon-setting sun is indicative of that, and it is also indicative of the fact that she soon will be making her way to <em>Forbidden Fruit</em> to pick up her forgotten debit card. It should excite her, <em>right</em>?</p><p>She's confident about the fact that Eve is an asshole, and owes her an apology - and usually, she would be excited about a person shamefully having to atone for their actions, but she's not. Confident, <em>yes</em>, but is she anxious too? As she shoves the rest of the croissant into her mouth, actively stress-eating, she realizes the answer is also <em>yes</em>. But why? </p><p>The feeling leaves a taste of disappointment in her mouth - for allowing herself to react so intensely to a stranger, even if that stranger is conundrum that is Eve. And disappointment, <em>well</em>.. that is something she does not do well with. Something she won't allow.</p><p>She swallows the last bite of croissant with a new-found resolve. She packs her stuff up, showing the painters out when she finishes, and when she heads back to her hotel, she does so with her chin held high.</p><p>She throws the coffee cup out along the way.</p>
<hr/><p>Her chin is still held high as she makes her way to the bar. The sun has set almost completely now, and Villanelle strides along the sidewalk confidently. She stopped by the hotel - to put her stuff down, and to change, because if there is one thing she has learned in her twenty-six years, it's that your outfit can really dictate your mood. It can dictate everything, really. Your level of confidence, how people perceive you, how you <em>want</em> them to perceive you. That's why she's wearing a two-piece form-fitting suit - it is olive green, with striped littered throughout the fabric, and underneath she wears a low-cut white shirt. She even braided her hair back to accentuate her neck. It is the image of power, confidence, <em>certainty</em>. </p><p>When she steps into the bar, she is surprised to see it is half-full. Seemingly odd.. for 6 PM on a.. <em>Friday</em>. That's right, she remembers, it's Friday - and she supposes the people of Franklin get to enjoy their weekends just like everyone else in the world. She steps around a group of men huddled near the doorway - college boys, if she had to guess - and it isn't until she surveys the bar that she realizes she was holding her breath. </p><p>Hugo is working the bar top alone, chatting with some young women sat in the corner who are laughing at whatever shitty joke he must be telling. She lets her eyes travel to the other corner of the room - and she catches sight of Elena's back, filling a bus tub with left-behind glasses - and when she finally allows herself to do a full 360 of the room, and sees no Eve - her shoulders don't relax. She's not sure if she feels disappointed or relieved - and it's <em>frustrating</em>. It's frustrating because Villanelle would rather be anything else but confused - it takes up a large amount of energy, trying to dissect the feeling and understand it, and it takes up a larger amount of energy to ignore the feeling all together. </p><p>When one of the college boys bumps into her, in a way that is too obstructive to be accidental, she rolls her eyes - not even glancing at him - before making her way to the bar. Hugo doesn't take note of her immediately, continuing to chatter with the women in the corner, so she picks a cherry out of his garnish box and throws it at his cheek.</p><p>He flinches at the contact, "What the <em>fuck</em>?"</p><p>When he rubs his cheek and looks over to to see where the attack came from, his eyes widen with realization at the sight of Villanelle. She stands with her arms behind her back, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. "Excuse me, ladies," he offers to the two women, and Villanelle makes a gagging noise, as he makes his way over to her. </p><p>"If it isn't the devil herself," he comments, snidely, as he leans his palms on the bar top. He looks over her outfit with an approving eye - and surprisingly, it doesn't feel like she's being ogled, it feels.. <em>appreciative</em> - one person admiring another person's fashion choices. She cocks an eyebrow when he says, "Don't you look divine tonight?" </p><p>She briefly wonders if Hugo is gay - but when she remembers the heterosexual sex-hungry energy that was radiating off of him when he was talking to the women at the bar, and the way he first looked at her when she entered the bar last night, she realizes he is not. He's just cocky, and forthcoming - something that she also is, but she just wears it a lot better than him. He looks radiates the same energy as some.. <em>Slytherin</em> reject. A brunette Draco Malfoy. </p><p>She rolls her eyes. "I think you have something of mine," she relays, a little loudly, over the noise of the bar, leaning forward and tucking a hand into her trousers as she surveys the scene of Franklin's younger population. They look severely out of place amongst the atmosphere of the bar, but she figures it's probably their best option if they don't want to watch sports at a chain restaurant, or sit with their moms at the wine bar down the street.</p><p>Hugo exhales deeply, lowering his shoulders in faux disappointment as he opens the cash register, "I'm doing really well tonight, Villanelle, so nice of you to ask." He paws through for a moment before handing her her card back, and closing the drawer.</p><p>She waits with raised eyebrows for a moment, but when he just looks at her, mirroring her body language, she cocks an eyebrow. </p><p>"Isn't there a slip of paper I need to sign?" She asks, losing patience with the boy, and the energy of <em>Forbidden Fruit</em> in its current state - one without Eve seated in it - is one she cares for a lot less. </p><p>"Ah, so you've done this before? Are you forgetful, or just a drunk?" He asks, leaning forward with a smize. When she realizes, the question is not rhetorical.. she answers because, well.. she doesn't know <em>why</em>, exactly. Her current state of confusion is casting a shadow onto all of her interactions - but she figures it's because she would like to get the <em>fuck</em> out of there, and she can't do that while the curly-haired Malfoy is holding her payment slip hostage. </p><p>"Neither." She replies, slipping her card into her pocket before leaning forward on the bar top on her elbows, sloping herself so that her face is just a few inches from his. "Mm, once, I was at a bar with a woman I felt very.. <em>inclined</em>.. to have sex with. But the bartender kept throwing me glances, really.. <em>chasing me</em>, you know? The problem is, she was also hot. So I went home with the woman I came with, but I left my card so I'd have to come back a few days later, and then I slept with her too. I didn't want to have to choose." She relays breathily, taking great joy in the way Hugo's throat bobs. His eyes look a little dazed as he registers her words. </p><p>"Oh, you minx," he relays quietly, narrowing his eyes in obvious admiration. But then he's slamming his fist on the bar top, and bringing himself up back into a standing position. Villanelle just watches the whole thing, wide-eyed. "I knew it! I knew you were a lesbian!" He admits proudly, and she's about to crawl across the bar and ask him just what <em>exactly</em> that means, when Elena is bounding around the corner of the bar, with a full bus tub. </p><p>"Hugo, if you don't get your ass.." Her words trail off as her eyes focus on the blonde, and her tone quickly turns from chastising to chipper. "Oh, Vil! You came back!" </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow at the nickname, clearly taken aback. </p><p><em>God</em>, she doesn't know what alternate universe she accidentally walked into, but she needs to get the fuck out. Needs to get the fuck out of Franklin, probably. </p><p>"Yeah," she offers Elena a confused smile, her eyebrows knitting together, "I left my card." When her eyes fix back on Hugo, she's sure her eyes look a little frantic, "Do I need to sign something or no?"</p><p>"No," he relents, crossing his arms back over his chest, "it's been comped - all of it, so." He shrugs, returning his attention back to Elena, "You were right, by the way. She is a lesbian."</p><p>Elena rolls her eyes, shoving him out of the way in favor of gesturing to Villanelle's outfit, "Duh. No man could keep up with.. <em>that</em>."</p><p>She can't help but smile at that, because <em>Yes. Elena is not wrong. </em></p><p>She winks at Villanelle, before adding, "I mean, no man can keep up with me either, but I'm attracted to the fucking things, unfortunately."</p><p>The smile doesn't last long though - because what was supposed to be a simple in and out to pick up her debit card, maybe accrue an apology from Eve, is turning into a cluster-fuck. But.. if the two bartenders were talking about her after she left, does that mean Eve was also talking about her?</p><p><em>God</em>, she wants to kick herself. Wants to bury herself under the soil for caring whether Eve was or not. She needs a drink. Somewhere.. <em>else</em>, obviously. </p><p>She gives a tight-lipped smile to the two of them, pushing herself away from the bar. "Thank you, I do not know which one of you comped my drinks, but.. thanks, I guess." It was probably Elena, as she's sure Hugo could care less about his boss being a gigantic arsehole, and she continues, "I'm gonna go now." She juts a thumb to to point at the door behind her, before shoving her hands into her pockets, and turning around. </p><p>"Oh, we didn't comp them!" Elena chimes in, half-yelling so the blonde can hear her over the music, "Eve did."</p><p>Villanelle stills. Her eyes narrow, and she slowly turns around to face the two of them, hands still in her pockets. She cocks an eyebrow, a cold laugh escaping her lips, "Is that her way of saying sorry?" </p><p>"Yes." Hugo answers.</p><p>"No." Elena also answers.</p><p>They reply at the exact same time, and they exchange an irritated look with one another, and Villanelle's expression doesn't change. That is.. <em>interesting</em>? Maybe more frustrating, she does not know. Does Eve feel remorseful? If so, that is a shit apology. </p><p>"Listen," Hugo starts, rolling his eyes - probably at himself for even partaking, "Eve is shit when it comes to sorries. She tries her best.. but she's just.. Eve." He shrugs, as if that is supposed to give Villanelle any insight further into the situation, and she furrows her brows at him.</p><p>Elena rolls her eyes this time, shoving Hugo out of the way again so she can talk to Villanelle directly, "What Hugo is <em>trying</em> to say is that Eve has felt like shit ever since you left. She knows she fucked up." Elena expresses, desperately - and Villanelle registers the loyalty, registers that whatever relationship the two of them have with Eve obviously runs deep, if they're going to this length to justify her actions. </p><p>Villanelle laughs at that, heartily, before taking another step forward until she is standing directly in front of the bar again, "And what am I supposed to do with that, exactly?"</p><p>She realizes her glance must look murderous when Hugo throws his hands up in surrender, taking a step away from the bar, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger." </p><p>"Oh, yeah?" She asks, closing in on him as much as she can with the bar top between the two of them. She's <em>angry</em> - angry because she was already confused to begin with, and now she's even more confused, holding more questions than answers. Her tone comes out a little more clipped than Hugo probably deserves, but she can't bring herself to care, "Then who am I supposed to shoot, hm? If the perpetrator is not here?" </p><p>"Oh, Eve is here," Elena chimes in, still standing firmly in the spot she occupied before, and Villanelle whips her head around to let her eyes fall upon the woman. "I'm pretty sure she wants to see you, Vil, she mentioned something about letting her know if you come by. I was just about to do that before you.." she gestures with her hands, "<em>scurried off</em>. God, no wonder you and Eve butted heads. You are seriously two sides of the same coin." </p><p>Villanelle's eyes narrow further at that, letting her eyes bounce around the bar before asking, "Where is she?" </p><p>"She's prepping the roof." Hugo relays, still standing a safe distance away, and Villanelle would laugh at the sight, under any other circumstance.</p><p><em>Prepping the roof?</em> Is this some English metaphor she does not know? </p><p>The confusion must be evident in her eyes because Elena chimes in again, "We open our roof on the weekends. For seating. When the weather is nice." She shrugs, before adding. "I can take you up there." </p><p>"No." Villanelle clips back, in a tone that is much harsher than Elena deserves, that she knows. But she needs a moment to recollect before she faces the force that is Eve  once again. "I will go by myself. Which way is the roof?" </p><p>Elena's eyes widen, but she doesn't take a step back, doesn't cower like Hugo did.</p><p>Villanelle knew she liked her. </p><p>She nods her head to a door beside the bar-top, adjacent to the bathroom. "Through that door, and up the stairs." Villanelle moves to walk towards it, but Elena calls after her, "Oh, Vil?" <em>Again with the fucking nickname.</em> The blonde sighs, looking at her impatiently. "Eve can be a bitch.. but she's a good person. She's.. <em>my</em> bitch, you know? So don't like.. push her off the roof or anything." </p><p>Villanelle nods with a grunt, before walking through the double-swinging doors, and walking up the stairs. She ignores the tingling sensation in her stomach as she does. </p>
<hr/><p>When she opens the door to the roof, she takes a moment to steady herself. The view is.. <em>beautiful</em>. The sun has just set over the small town, and the view allows for a full-range view of the area. An expansive skyline of different sized-buildings, surrounded by greenery, and the river that cuts through the town reflects them like a slow-moving mirror. There are rows of picnic tables sat across the grid of the roof, illuminated by fairy lights, and the speakers are carrying the soft sounds of a song - more relaxed than the music playing downstairs, and Villanelle can hear Eve humming along to it. </p><p> ♪The moon may be high<br/>
 But I can't see a thing in the sky<br/>
I only have eyes for you<br/>
 I don't know if we're in a garden<br/>
Or on a crowded avenue ♪</p><p>Villanelle allows herself to take in the sight completely, before letting her presence be known. The older woman is dressed in a turtleneck, and slacks. Completely covered - threatening to blend in with the night and disappear at any moment. This time, her beautiful hair is drawn up into a sloppy bun - and Villanelle mourns the sight of it, and she feels the dull ache in her stomach return. She doesn't make the correlation between the feelings - doesn't dare.</p><p>Eve is attempting to string up some fairy lights over one of the umbrellas that sits atop the picnic table, but she hits her head, fumbling with the string, before rubbing at her temple, "<em>Shit</em>."</p><p>"Need a hand?" Villanelle asks, smirking as she steps forward, and the woman whips her head up in surprise at the sound of her voice. The surprise slowly morphs into realization, then surprise, then.. <em>shame</em>? Villanelle regards the transformation curiously.</p><p>"Oh, uh, Villanelle." She states, quietly, and <em>yep</em>.. definite remorse. It bothers Villanelle - to have heard her name slide past Eve's lips twice now, both times in ways that don't serve her; in ways that she does not care to hear Eve speak her name. This voice, though - the shame, the remorse, the <em>softness</em> of it - is worse than hearing Eve utter it angrily in the bar. She would take anger over.. <em>whatever the hell this is</em>, any day, but she's interested - so she steps forward, hands in her trousers, as she throws Eve an inquisitive glance - a small smile accompanied by raised eyebrows, as if to say <em>I am here, so what now?</em></p><p>Eve just stares at her for a moment - bundling up the fairy lights in her hands, and discarding them on the table - before hopping off the chair, and sliding her palms against her thighs as she walks towards the blonde. Her movements are outlined by a nervous, antsy energy, and Villanelle just watches comically. She doesn't stop until she's standing a few feet in front of the younger woman.</p><p>"Hi." That is what Eve manages.</p><p>Villanelle snorts quietly at that, one side of her lap transforming her mouth into a smirk, "Hi, Eve."</p><p>It is a strange juxtaposition - a contrast so sharp that Villanelle feels like she could cut herself on it. She remembers the sight of Eve in the bar last night, vividly - hair flowing; cold, calculating eyes, the tenseness of her jaw - and it looks nothing like the Eve now - subdued, antsy, almost.. <em>shy</em>. Villanelle just buries her hands further into her pockets, because she does not like feeling awkward - it is a feeling she rarely experiences, after all - but the air is pregnant with a tense energy. One that she has no idea how it will play out, and worst of all, she's <em>subjecting</em> herself to it. </p><p>"Do you, uh, want to sit down?" Eve manages, gesturing to the picnic tables by them, and it feels formal. As if she is about to be offered a job, or fired on the spot.</p><p>She <em>definitely</em> needs a drink.</p><p>Villanelle bites her bottom lip, letting her legs bend a bit, before removing her hands from her pockets and holding them behind her back. "Is that guilt of yours still translating to free drinks? Because I'm dying for a Gin." </p><p>Eve laughs at that - and with the sound comes the bursting of the bubble, the breaking of ice, and Villanelle relaxes a bit with the feeling. "Sure. One second."</p><p>She moves past Villanelle, to the area of the roof she had not yet glanced at, and there's a little covered bar they have set up out here. <em>Cute</em>. She wonders if this is where Eve bartends on these weekends - pouring drinks for drunk frat boys, gazing longingly over the landscape, thinking of anywhere but where she is.</p><p>It is the first time she has imagined Eve in any other place that isn't underneath her, or with her hands around the older woman's throat, she realizes. </p><p>Eve re-emerges from behind the bar, one hand holding a rocks glass, the other holding a pint of beer. She gestures for them to sit at one of the nearby picnic tables, and Villanelle follows suit. They sit down slowly, across from each other - and they both take a sip of their drinks, before Eve crosses her hands over the table. She leans forward, biting her lip, and <em>here it comes</em>, the <em>Sorry that I was such a shitbag last night</em> - Villanelle can sense it.</p><p>"So, Villanelle.. that's a type of poem, right?"</p><p>
  <em>There it goes. </em>
</p><p>The blonde rolls her eyes. She gets it all the time, and it never fails to annoy her. Eve can do better. </p><p>"Hmm, <em>Eve</em>.. you're the one who fucked Adam's life up, right?"</p><p>She retorts, raising an eyebrow as she takes another sip of her Gin, dodging the question. She resigned herself to a life of not answering stupid questions, but she did not expect Eve's questions to be the type she'd have to avoid.</p><p>Maybe she overestimated her; maybe all it will take is this one conversation for Villanelle to get bored, go back to her hotel, and never think of Eve again. </p><p>The curly-haired woman laughs at that, offers a "<em>Touché</em>" before taking a sip of her beer. </p><p>They sit silently for a moment, deliberately averting eye contact and Villanelle does not know why the fuck she's succumbing to behaviors she hasn't in years, but she doesn't have time to question it further. Eve's body language transitions into something more.. <em>confident</em>, more recognizable, as she leans on her elbows on the table. This time when she speaks, she does so with certainty, effectively slicing the silence.</p><p>"Okay, listen, I am just going to.. cut the shit, alright?" She states, clearly, and Villanelle nods, slowly, encouragingly.</p><p>
  <em>Here it comes?</em>
</p><p>"I was a massive bitch to you last night."</p><p>
  <em>Ah, yes, here it comes.</em>
</p><p>Her eyes regain that similar fire - but this time, it is not threatening to burn Villanelle, <em>no</em>, they are flames that are flying inwards, towards Eve herself.</p><p>"I was assumptive, and judgmental, and just.. an all-around asshole, and I'm sorry. I have a lot going on right now, and that's not an excuse. You.. you were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and I took it out on you. And I'm sorry, okay?" The words fly out of Eve, embers from a dying fire, and Villanelle can tell she means every one - can tell from the way her shoulders relax with each one that leaves her lips.</p><p>Villanelle hums into her drink, taking another sip - really letting herself feel the Gin run down her throat, before opening her mouth again, "Did you mean what you said?"</p><p>She watches Eve, carefully.</p><p>"What?" The dark-haired woman replies, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. </p><p><em>Good</em>. She is happy that Eve is confused. Villanelle has been confused all day.</p><p>"That I am an entitled, rich, brat? Did you mean what you said?" Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, relaying the words clearly, watching as Eve's eyebrows unknit, and she steels herself.</p><p>"No," Eve replies, biting her lip before she continues, "I have no know way of knowing that. Like I said, I made an assumption, and I judged you on it."</p><p> "But you speculate?" The blonde questions, cooly, "That I am a rich, entitled, <em>brat</em>?" </p><p>Eve holds her gaze, her mouth parting a bit, and she looks like she's deciding her words carefully before she wills them into existence. </p><p>"Yes." She relays, truthfully, and Villanelle raises an eyebrow.</p><p>Maybe she did not overestimate Eve, after all. Most people would lie, get on their knees, beg - but <em>no</em>, Eve is apologizing for the way she treated her because of an assumption - but not denying the truth she felt in her assumption. <em>Interesting.</em></p><p>"Yes, Villanelle, I do.. <em>speculate</em>.. that. But it doesn't change the fact that it's just speculation, and I behaved like an asshole based on that.. speculation. I'm sorry." She provides again, and Villanelle likes to hear it - the truth, and the truth of the apology that follows.</p><p>She likes this Eve - the true Eve, she <em>speculates</em>, the one who is confident in the way she carries herself, and the one who says what she means and means what she says. Not the facade - the subtle, meek, uncertain Eve who tiptoes. Maybe she's the one being assumptive now, as she really has only known about the existence of Eve for a full twenty-four hours, but Villanelle trusts her gut, and her gut says <em>Bullshit</em> to any version of Eve who is not the one sitting across from her currently. </p><p>She realizes she hasn't responded when Eve cuts in again, "Do you accept my apology?"</p><p>Villanelle snorts at that, watching a drop of condensation run down the side of Eve's glass, before questioning back, "Does it matter? If I am a rich, entitled brat, I mean. If that is the case, then what good is my forgiveness?" </p><p>Eve cocks an eyebrow at that, and she's obviously expending more energy than expected.. having to wage a war that she didn't expect to have to fight. </p><p>Again, <em>good</em>. She is happy that Eve is having a harder time than she expected to. Villanelle has expended a lot of precious energy today thinking about it, or.. <em>not</em> thinking about it. </p><p>"Yes, it matters." Eve narrows her brows, maintaining perfect eye contact with the blonde, "Because even if you are a rich, entitled brat - which I'm really <em>speculating</em> you are, by the way - it does not negate the fact that I wronged you. I treated you like shit based on assumption. So, yes.. your forgiveness matters."</p><p>She concludes with a shrug.</p><p>Villanelle sits back at that, cocking her head to the side to observe Eve's face - her loose jaw, her narrowed eyebrows, the confused crease on her forehead. Yes, Eve is a.. <em>bitch</em>, but she is honest. Willing to think introspectively when the time calls for it. <em>How far does that go?</em>, Villanelle wonders.</p><p>She only has to wonder for a moment, before she prods. </p><p>"Does my forgiveness only matter so that you don't have to wake up with a," she pauses, forgetting the word in English momentarily, "<em>lump</em> of guilt on your chest?"</p><p>Eve snorts at that - but it is not the same light, carefree, atrocious snort she got to hear in the bar last night - <em>no</em>, this is the snort that is indicative of something going on under the surface. A certain type of pain, masked by this specific sound. </p><p>"No, <em>God</em>, no. I have enough guilt to last me a life time of.. <em>lumps</em>, trust me." She takes another sip of her beer, licking the foam from her lip - which Villanelle watches, closely - before letting her hands fall in her lap, with an exhale. "Look, I'm sorry because I was an asshole to you. Whether you forgive me or not is up to you. If you don't, that's fine, I'll get up from this table and-"</p><p>"I accept your apology." </p><p>Villanelle's own voice surprises her. It's stern, but only barely - where the desperation probably is not at all noticeable to Eve, the blonde can hear it lingering in her tone. It sobers her, disgusts her, <em>confuses</em> her - but there is a part of her that really does not want Eve to leave this table. A primal part, she figures, based on the way the words left her lips without her permission. </p><p>"Oh." Eve replies, clearly taken aback, if her raised eyebrows are any indicator of that. She rubs the back of her neck, chewing on the words before replying, "Well, thanks."</p><p>Villanelle nods. Still dumbfounded. They both move to pick up their glasses, and take another long sip, but it doesn't take long before the blonde's eyes return to Eve's face. It is.. a hard face not to look at, even if it is sometimes infuriating. When Eve catches her eye contact, Villanelle asks, "Do you want to know?"</p><p>"What?" Eve asks, genuinely confused - and Villanelle loves to watch the almost constant motion of her eyebrows knitting together, and releasing, and knitting together again, and then releasing. It is a very fun game. </p><p>"If I am an.. entitled brat, as you so <em>lovingly</em> put it." She offers, with a shrug, sipping her drink innocently. "Do you want to know?" </p><p>"Is this your weird way of asking me to hang out?" Eve asks, and her eyes resemble a confused, but intrigued concoction. Her lips part in some sort of smile, and if that was Villanelle's question, she wouldn't doubt that it would be a <em>yes</em>. But she's not.</p><p>Eve is an equation she wants to figure out - not elongate the amount of time it takes to figure out said equation. </p><p>"Hanging out.." she leans forward, her voice registering an octave lower, and the words slip out of her mouth easily, coated in a sultry haze, "is <em>one</em> way to put it, yes."</p><p>Eve raises an eyebrow at that, eyes bouncing around the blonde's face - but not in the way Villanelle had wanted. No, it's not sexual-fueled yearning - there is a dubious look in Eve's eyes, and she purses her lips, before leaning forward herself, until her face all-too-close to the blonde's. </p><p><em>Hm</em>, Eve's eyes aren't so dark, she realizes. From this distance, they are actually a very.. warm brown. Both encapsulating and concealing, all at once. They are very close,  and her lips feel even closer, but Eve's eyes are giving nothing away in regards to whether the blonde could successfully make an advance right now. It is <em>very</em> annoying.</p><p>"I am not going to have sex with you, Villanelle."</p><p>And if Villanelle is shocked, she doesn't let it show on her face. But she is. </p><p>Eve isn't to be underestimated. She won't make the mistake again.</p><p>She leans back, sporting a carefully cocked brow in Eve's direction as she crosses her arms over her chest. Eve leans back too, and when she does, Villanelle shakes her head, a smize dancing upon her lips, "<em>Wow</em>. That is.. <em>arrogant</em>, Eve."</p><p>Eve laughs, leaning forward to take another sip of her beer, seemingly unfazed and the blonde watches the movement with a carefully blank look.</p><p>The older woman shakes her head, as she sets the glass back down, swallowing the sip, "Nah, it's really not. I saw you with Stephanie last night. I think it has little to do with me. I think you just have a thing for older women."</p><p>Villanelle's mouth parts at that, and she can't help it when her brows furrow, because <em>wow</em>, Eve is lacking in social skills - even from her perspective. There have been few times in her life where she hasn't welcomed brutal honesty, but this makes her uncomfortable.. that Eve has a read on her, even if it is a small one. </p><p>But Eve is also wrong, dreadfully so - not that Villanelle would ever tell her that, or do a single thing to indicate just how wrong she is. </p><p>It has <em>a lot</em> do with Eve, she's finding out. </p><p>"Are you slut-shaming me, Eve?" Villanelle asks, impishly, because if there is one thing she can do, that is recover quickly. Eve doesn't bat an eyelash at the question, just shakes her head again, before checking the time on her phone.</p><p><em>Wow</em>.</p><p>Villanelle has never felt so.. cast-aside. Undesirable. <em>Lackluster</em>. </p><p>She sits back, a line creasing between her brows with that unwelcome confusion, when that familiar dull pain stabs a pain in her stomach.</p><p>Seriously, what is <em>that</em>? She briefly wonders if she should schedule a doctor's appointment, before Eve's voice pierces her thoughts, once again.</p><p>"No, and I think you know that I'm not." She offers, simply, taking the last sip of her beer, before regarding Villanelle seriously. "I just don't think that what's you need right now." </p><p>"Oh, yeah? And what do I need right now, Eve?" Her tone comes out more perplexed than she wants it to - she wasn't sure whether she was going for sultry, or cold.. so it landed somewhere in the middle, and just sounds more disoriented than anything. </p><p>"A friend."</p><p>Villanelle guffaws at that, raising her eyebrows. Oh, that's rich. That is <em>rich</em>! Coming from the same woman who just apologized her ass off about assumption, and speculations, and-</p><p>"Stop." Eve relays simply, her gaze even - leveled and soft. "Stop whatever.. <em>that</em> is."</p><p>She gestures to Villanelle's arms that seemed to be crossing over her chest, without her realizing it, and <em>fine</em>.. maybe she's feeling defensive, but she wasn't prepared for Eve to be an arsehole again. Seriously. This woman is going to give her whiplash.</p><p>"I'm not throwing you a pity party, so just reel it in for a sec. I've just.. been where you are. You know what.. I still <em>am</em> where you are. We're probably.. more alike than you think." Villanelle is about to raise the question of <em>rich, entitled, brat?</em>, but Eve continues, not allowing her the chance. "And I thought I was managing it, <em>handling</em> it, but I wasn't. And I didn't realize that until a very wise.. man pointed out that I needed a friend. And you know what the funny thing is? He was right."</p><p>Eve's eyes are holding a serious sincerity to them - she's not talking down to Villanelle, she is conversing with Villanelle. If they're standing the same ground, it is one of even soil; one that puts them at the same height. It leaves the blonde unable to respond; she just looks on, in astonishment. Eve is.. just a stranger, after all - why does she care whether Villanelle has a friend or not?</p><p>Is she one of those people who operates out of a weird fucked-up hero complex?</p><p>But she recoils a bit, when Elena's words ring in her ear, </p><p>
  <em>Eve is a bitch but she's a good person. </em>
</p><p>Villanelle's laugh is quiet when it leaves her - colder than expected, and she regards Eve with eyes that must be of similar temperature, "Mm, and what happened to this wise man? This.. <em>friend</em>?" <em>Sounds like an idiot</em>, she almost adds.</p><p>"He died."</p><p>The way Eve offers it is straight-toward, with a shrug - a pained look in her eye, but it is one of inevitability, not one that is supposed to serve to make Villanelle feel bad. It is just.. the truth. </p><p>Villanelle inhales, letting her shoulders fall with the exhale, and she wonders if she is sick of the truth. Maybe she can alter her taste from older women to strictly liars. She figures it would be a hell of a lot easier than having to look at the expression Eve is wearing right now. </p><p>"Are you just saying this because you're lonely?" Villanelle asks, narrowing her eyes at Eve - their empty glasses sat in front of them, and forgotten. "Your friend died, and now you need a.. <em>replacement</em>.. friend."</p><p>It's Eve's turn to let out a humorless laugh, and she does - but she doesn't chastise her, or chide her. In fact, some part of her expression looks free - as if this is one of the few settings where she's able to talk about this friend without somebody worrying about crossing a line. </p><p>"No." She replies, "I think.. that I want to be your friend, even if you are a.. <em>brat</em>. I want to get to know you, Villanelle."</p><p>Finally, it finally happens - Eve says her name in a way that is free of remorse, or anger; Villanelle wants to hear it over and over again, hear it spoken into existence a thousand times over.</p><p>The words allow some skepticism to settle into the blonde's spine - because she does not think Eve really wants to be her friend, <em>no</em> - it could be a hero-complex, or her just wanting to continue on her deceased friend's legacy, or maybe Eve is just.. <em>lonely</em>. But she can't ignore the confirmation that Eve's words carried, her tone revealing an answer without the older woman realizing it. The way Eve said her name this time was free of remorse and anger, <em>yes</em>, but full of curiosity. Villanelle watched the slight dazed look pass over Eve's eyes as she breathed life into the sentence, and then the blonde knew.</p><p>Whatever this thing is that she's feeling - the pull, the <em>desire</em>, Eve feels it too.</p><p>Maybe Eve has been just as confused as Villanelle since their meeting last night. She wonders if the older woman laid awake, angry and drunk; wonders if her hand slipped down her waistband before she went to sleep, wonders if Eve thought of blonde hair and hazel eyes. She can't know for sure, but she does know that Eve feels it.</p><p>And maybe that's what Eve means by this friendship - perhaps it is just some elongated route for her to test the waters before jumping into bed with the blonde. She needs to dip her toe in first, and feel confident about the temperature of the water, before she jumps in.</p><p><em>Hmm</em>.</p><p>Villanelle considers it - as she has already expended more energy than she would have liked into the older woman, and pursuing a friendship in hopes of getting into Eve's pants is.. an <em>absurd</em> amount of energy to expend. It is a desperate course of action - one that a sex-deprived teenage boy would take, <em>not</em> Villanelle. But she can't deny the untamed curiosity that lives in her body surrounding Eve. Yes, Eve is an enigma. It annoys her, but it also makes her wet.</p><p>She thinks of the previous, sleepless night that she had - tossing and turning, sipping cheap vodka to find sleep, nearly burning her skin off in the shower - and she would rather walk through the fires of Hell than go through that again. She figures, that if she is to deny now, to walk away from Eve without seeing this out to its conclusion - she would have many of those nights ahead of her.</p><p>She hums, audibly, scratching her chin, as she observes Eve. Her eyes follow the swoop of her neck, the unpredictable nature of her eyes - soft under the current glow of the lights, the pout of her lower lip. She is sure that if she were to leave Franklin, without knowing what sounds that mouth makes when it cries out, without knowing what those eyes look like when they squeeze shut, what that neck looks like after Villanelle's leaves her marks on it, she would live in a world full of regret. Villanelle does not like the feeling of regret, but she also does not like feeling like a dog waiting to be thrown a bone. A stray dog that Eve gets to decide whether she lets in for the night, or leaves to sleep on the street.</p><p>Eve raises her eyebrows, clearing her throat - and Villanelle doesn't know how long they've sat silently, the blonde just observing her.. but it must have been a while because Eve is looking at her with impatient eyes.</p><p>"So.. friends?" Eve questions, and Villanelle hums in consideration again, which causes the older woman to roll her eyes, before leaning forward. "You do know what that words mean, don't you?"</p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, letting her hand drop away from her chin, "Yes, Eve. I know what <em>friend</em> means." She picks up the rocks glass, downing the last sip of Gin, before wiping her mouth. "You are not just what I think of when I think of it." </p><p>Eve laughs at that, the corners of her eyes crinkling with the motion, and she leans back, "Yeah, well, I can't say you are either."</p><p>Villanelle inhales deeply, letting her shoulders deflate with an exhale, as she nods her confirmation. "Fine. We can be.. <em>friends</em>."</p><p>A beat passes.</p><p>She decides to try her luck, just one more time.</p><p>"Just to be clear, sex is completely off the table?"</p><p>"Yes, asshole."</p><p>Villanelle pouts. </p><p>Eve checks her phone again, before standing up and collecting their glasses, and Villanelle just watches as she drops them on the bar top, and walks to where she was trying to hang the fairy lights over the umbrella when Villanelle entered onto the rooftop.</p><p>"Come on, help me with these."</p><p>Villanelle doesn't move from her seat, "Why?"</p><p>She grabs the bundle in her hands, cocking an unimpressed brow at the blonde from where she is standing, "Because that is what friends do, and because I need to have the roof ready in five minutes. Stop being a dick." </p><p>Villanelle groans, pulling herself into a standing position and walking over to the older woman, her mouth parted in faux shock. "<em>Eve</em>, is that any way to a talk to a friend?" She tuts, grabbing the bundle of lights from Eve's hands. Eve rolls her eyes; rolls them harder when Villanelle stands on the chair, and hangs the lights upon the umbrella easily. The blonde's height gives her a distinct advantage over the older woman. </p><p>When she hops down, Eve crosses her arms - looking more like a petulant child who's toy was out of reach, than a thankful friend. Villanelle smiles.</p><p>"Are you going to stick around?" Eve asks.</p><p>"No, Hugo is annoying." </p><p>Eve laughs at that, uncrossing her arms, "Yeah, well. Can't argue that. You can hang out up here if you'd like." Eve walks over to the rooftop bar, and Villanelle follows slowly - a few steps behind.</p><p>"What? With the gremlins disguised as college boys that you are about to let up here? They are somehow.. more annoying." </p><p>Eve shakes her head, rearranging some items on the bar top, before holding out her hand. Villanelle looks at the outstretch hand, confusedly.</p><p>"Phone." Eve relays, and Villanelle fishes it out of her pocket, unlocking it and handing it over the older woman. Eve types in her phone number, saving the contact info, and glancing at the screen with raised eyebrows, before handing the phone back to the blonde. "Wow, you have quite the.. contact list."</p><p>Villanelle glances down at the screen, seeing the name Eve littered in amongst a bunch of other E names.</p><p>
  <em>Eileen from the wine bar in LA</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Emily from the steak restaurant in Houston</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Emily #2 from tiki bar in New Orelans</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Erin from the coffee place in Paris</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eve</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Evelyn from the hotel in Budapest</em>
</p><p>Villanelle frowns at that - damn, she really needs to delete some of these - before pulling her lips up into a smirk, putting her phone back in her pocket as she stares at the older woman. "I am a very popular girl, Eve."</p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, busying herself with rearranging the bottles on the bar, "Oh, yeah? Does that mean you have plans tomorrow night, since you're so.. <em>popular</em>?"</p><p>"No." Villanelle admits easily, too easily - she mentally kicks herself. Way to seem.. interested, <em>Jesus</em>. "Lucky for you, I am free."</p><p>Eve smiles at that, "Great. I'm off at 8. Meet me here, we'll go somewhere else."</p><p>"Somewhere else?" Villanelle snorts, cocking an eyebrow, "In Franklin? What? Are you going to take me to the gas station parking lot down the street?"</p><p>Eve raises an eyebrow at that, letting Villanelle know she's toeing a dangerous line - and Villanelle doesn't doubt that Eve would retract the offer if she were to step over it. </p><p>She also doesn't doubt that if Eve did intend to take her to the gas station down the street, she would still come. </p><p>"Okay, <em>sheesh</em>. I will be here." Villanelle relents, backing away from the bar, and Eve's eyebrows relax into a satisfied expression once again. </p><p>"Good. Text me so I have your number." Eve is wiping down the bar, and she gives Villanelle a warm, parting smile before adding, "Can you let Hugo know that I'm ready up here, on your way out?"</p><p>Villanelle raises her eyebrows at that, "Wow, Eve - is this whole friend thing just some excuse to get some unpaid labor?" Eve throws her a murderous glance, and Villanelle decides she has pushed her luck enough tonight, so she moves to turn towards the exit, before adding, "Fine. See you tomorrow, Eve." </p><p>"Bye, douchebag."</p><p>Villanelle's mouth parts at that, but she just huffs before letting herself through the door, and descending the stairs. If her and Eve are going to be friends, she is going to have to teach the older woman a thing or two about pet names. </p>
<hr/><p>The lower level of the bar is completely full now - and Villanelle has to push through some frat boys to get to the bar, which she does, gladly, throwing a few murderous glances along the way. When she gets to the counter, Hugo is shaking some drinks in his hands - and he looks sweaty, <em>gross</em> - She yells over the sound of the packed bar, "The roof has been.. <em>prepped</em>, or whatever." </p><p>Elena pops out from behind him, letting her eyes rake over Villanelle with a smile, "Oh, no blood on your shirt. That's good!" She is an image of peace, next to an obviously-stressed Hugo. "Did the two of you squash it then?" </p><p><em>Squash</em>?</p><p>God, the English language is stupid. </p><p>She nods, giving Elena a tight-lipped smile, "Sure, it has been.. <em>squashed</em>." She releases the word, before some drunk twenty-something-old knocks into her, and she growls under her breath, announcing to Elena, "I am going to leave before I commit a murder in your bar." </p><p>"Good idea! We're slammed right now, I don't have time to dispose of a body!" Elena smiles back eagerly, letting the blonde know that she would dispose of a body for her if she had time. <em>Hm</em>.. the young woman really is loyal. There is no denying that. Maybe that rules out the possibility of Eve pursuing a friendship out of.. <em>loneliness</em>. Elena does not seem like the type to let a person be lonely. "Bye, Vil!" She waves, and <em>God</em>, she really is going to have to say something about the nickname when she doesn't have to scream over the sound of drunk college kids, so she just settles for a wave, for now.</p><p>Hugo manages a nod in her direction, and with that, she turns to leave the <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>When she gets to back to her hotel room, she collapses onto her bed in a similar fashion that she had the night before. But this time, she is not angry. Confused - maybe even more so. But not angry, because she knows that the bizarre night she had serves as the beginning to an end. The beginning to finding out what it is about Eve that makes her feel so.. <em>weird</em>, the beginning to getting Eve out of her system, for good. </p><p>She pulls her phone out of her pocket, holding it above her face, as she changes Eve's contact from Eve to an apple emoji, before shooting off a text.</p><p>
  <em>Hi, Eve! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's Adam!</em>
</p><p>She laughs to herself at that, throwing the phone to the side, before pulling herself up to shower. This time, she does so slowly - the water warm, but not scorching. She is not trying to rid herself of the night's events - she is just trying to wind down from them. When she washes her hair, she thinks of Eve's - the absence of curls tonight, and how the feeling struck a weird pang in Villanelle's stomach. She wonders what it would be like to run her fingers through them, wonders if her hands would get tangled, wonders if Eve would like the feeling of her hands getting tangled in them. Villanelle sighs, letting the water hit her back, before turning the faucet off. </p><p>She changes into a robe, and when she lays back down in bed, she sees the notification. </p><p>1 Unread Text</p><p>She opens it. </p><p>🍎: Fuck you, asshole.</p><p>Villanelle snorts at that, putting her phone down on the nightstand, before readjusting on her back. This time, when her hand travels between her thighs, she does not punish herself for thinking of Eve's eyes - warm and bright under the glow of the fairy lights, nor does she kick herself for recounting Eve's mouth - soft and pouty, as she waited for Villanelle's forgiveness - no, she does no such thing.</p><p>She comes quickly, and happily - knowing that the fantasy she entertains will not stay fantasy for long.</p><p>She is not leaving Franklin, Pennsylvania without getting Eve into bed first. </p><p>It is very important. Maybe more important than the reason she is in Franklin in the first place.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>here we go again! this one is pretty dialogue-heavy, so I hope ya'll like that! writing the dialogue of them beginning to get to know each other almost puts me in a state of paralysis.. so much to unpack before they get to where they need to be! I did mean it when I said this fic is gonna be a slooow burn, so I hope ya'll are still buckled up! getting to unpack Villanelle's character in this setting is really interesting and something I'm excited to continue to expand upon!</p><p>for those who might be confused at the mention of Elsie De Wolf, she was an interior decorator active in the early late 1800's/early 1900's. really beautiful work, I recommend googling if you're interested!</p><p>TW: mentions of child abuse</p><p>as always, thank you so much for reading, and engaging! reading your comments always means the world to me, and I always welcome whatever insight you want to provide! whether that be constructive criticism, or something that stuck out you in particular! appreciate each and every one of you!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day at work is uneventful.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle <em>hates </em>uneventful days. </p><p> </p><p>It is why she chose the career that she did, after all. She couldn't fathom the idea of a desk job; couldn't even entertain it. She always liked the idea of making a lot of money, but not if that involved a bit of life being drained from her each time she punched the clock. She had to find something that kept her busy, kept her interested, <em>and </em>made her a lot of money. It didn't take her very long.</p><p> </p><p>She had wasted a whopping two semesters in <em>Business Management</em>, until one day she had been mindlessly surfing the web on her laptop, mid-lecture, and stumbled upon an article on <em>Elsie De Wolfe</em>. She only had to click through three images before she promptly shut her laptop, walked out of her <em>Intro to Economics </em>lecture, and changed her major from <em>Business Management</em>to <em>Interior Design</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Sure, it may have qualified as a rash decision at the time - but really, it was the product of a destiny that had been unraveling before her eyes ever since she was a child. </p><p> </p><p>She had taken to decorating as distraction, as early as she can remember. It was a way of her reclaiming power in a home where she did not have any. She would sit in her room for hours as child, glueing beads to the ceiling and pasting magazine cut-outs to her wall, to detract from the sound of the late-night screaming matches that took places between her mother and father. It was the only thing that made her feel like the sound could not reach her. It was the only thing that made her feel like she could make her own world; one that did <em>not</em> exist in an old, barely-standing farmhouse located deep in the farmlands of Russia.</p><p> </p><p>Her room became an image of <em>Lisa Frank</em> glamour - covered in varying shades of pink, random objects that she had found at school and fixed into glittery sculptures, and enough cut-out images plastering her walls to hide the water-damaged paint. When she would sit in her windowsill, and look out at the half-dead landscape, her room made her feel confident that she could create beauty even in places where only ugly exists.</p><p> </p><p>The dream lasted until there was nothing left to decorate, until she was forced, yet again, to lay on her bed and listen to her mother and father scream, and shout, and break, and <em>smash</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She tried, once after that, to expand past her room - a desperate attempt to give her hands something to do, to show her parents that the home they had made Hell could become beautiful once again.</p><p> </p><p>She had only managed to decorate a third of the kitchen, before her mother came home. Her reward? Not one, but <em>two</em> black eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle figures that's the reason why her decision to change majors in college was not so much a revelation, but regaining touch with something she had lost long ago.</p><p> </p><p>That's the funny thing about being good at something.</p><p> </p><p>If somebody beats it out of you enough times, you'll forget that you were ever good at it in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>So, <em>yes</em> - Villanelle hates uneventful work days, because she likes to remind herself that she is good at what she does. But with the painters finishing up their work on the upper level of the home, and the central pieces of furniture not arriving for another two days, she is left with little wiggle room. It is pointless to try and buy complimentary pieces until the main pieces are there, until you have a <em>real </em>idea of the image being strung together.</p><p> </p><p>Because if she does not try to make an attempt, she is left to do nothing, but think. Think about college. Think about her shit childhood. Think about Eve - which is not necessarily a bad thing, but the amount at which she does think about Eve is starting to become concerning. She is starting to think about stupid things, <em>pointless </em>things. She wonders if Eve majored in <em>Business Management. </em>She does run a bar, after all. Wow, she <em>is</em> bored.</p><p> </p><p>God, she has not wanted to sleep with somebody so badly since.. <em>ever</em>, maybe? Not since her early twenties, at least.. not since she made the mistake of taking <em>History of Interiors and Furniture; </em>not since she made the mistake of walking into a lecture hall where a certain curly-haired professor captured her attention. Not since Anna.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, there she goes - thinking about college again. <em>Nope</em>. Not today. </p><p> </p><p>Not allowing those thoughts to come to fruition is motivation enough for her to pay another visit to the nearby antique store. She waves the painters a quick goodbye, before heading out the door, and making her way towards the town center. </p><hr/><p>It only takes her fifteen minutes to make it to the store.</p><p> </p><p>When she enters, she's greeted happily by the same older woman that she had purchased the first round of furniture only a few days prior. It is an odd sensation - being in Franklin, a small town full of familiarity and predictability. She has worked in a lot of different cities, but she has never worked in a town small enough where walking from location to location is a feasible feat. It is somewhat.. <em>refreshing</em>. Not having to run to catch the tube, not having to worry about crying babies in enclosed spaces, not having to worry about some Wall Street broker man-spreading in the seat next to her. </p><p> </p><p>She has <em>definitely </em>never worked in a town small enough where the same lady works the front desk of the antique store, five days a week. Sure, she has connections - people she knows in London and New York - but she usually has to call a couple different assistants, and hold for a few minutes, before she can get ahold of them. She wonders if the older woman working the front desk even has a cell phone - Villanelle glances over at the sight of her taking track of inventory with a <em>pencil and paper</em>, and that is enough for her to assume it is.. not likely.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, while the town of Franklin is probably a home of familiarity and predictability to the people who live there - Villanelle isn't sure she's ever been somewhere that's felt more.. <em>unfamiliar</em>. </p><p> </p><p>It is an interesting contrast, one that she doesn't <em>necessarily</em> hate. </p><p> </p><p>She would definitely lose her mind if she had to spend more than a month in the small town, but for now.. it is <em>not </em>terrible. A welcome break of calm amidst the life of chaos she prefers. </p><p> </p><p>She paws through some of the smaller furniture - side tables, curio cabinets, decorative frames - but she comes up empty. Villanelle sighs, letting her head fall back, as she slowly accepts her defeat. It was a part of the job - some days were full of constant wins, other days were full of.. <em>nothing</em>, and these were the days that threatened to shred whatever semblance of patience resided inside of the blonde.</p><p> </p><p>When she pulls her head back up, her eyes fall upon a red, ceramic apple.</p><p> </p><p>She picks it up, turning it slowly over in her hand. It would look nice in Eve's bar. Very <em>fitting</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps, she will buy it for Eve - as a peace offering, a way of saying <em>it is okay that you were a massive bitch - water under the bridge</em>, a way of saying <em>it is okay that you are very sexually frustrating to be around</em>, a way of saying <em>I'm very excited to see how long this friend thing lasts before you cave</em>. Villanelle snickers to herself, carrying the apple to the front desk, and relishing in the confused look the elderly woman gives her three dollar purchase, when she had previously spent hundreds of dollars in the store only a few days before. </p><p> </p><p>"Is this for the home you are decorating?" The older woman makes polite small-talk, giving Villanelle a warm smile as she places the apple in a small bag.</p><p> </p><p>"No," Villanelle replies, smirking, "it is for a.. <em>friend</em>."</p><hr/><p> </p><p>She regrets buying the apple.</p><p> </p><p>The plastic piece of fruit is taunting her - she is sure of it.</p><p> </p><p>It is sitting on the counter of Carolyn's empty kitchen, and it is making fun of her. It is making fun of her for entertaining the thought of texting Eve, when she will be seeing the woman in only a few hours. If the apple had a mouth, it would be laughing. She is sure of it. But she is not behaving desperately, no - she is seriously just bored as shit. What is the harm in a simple text - a distraction?</p><p> </p><p>When she got back to the home, she tiptoed around aimlessly. She tried to peer over the painters shoulders, and she made it a full ten minutes before they shoo'd her away, telling her that they needed to focus if she wanted the job done by the end of the day. They were very boring. She then, literally, tried to see how long she could last watching paint dry, she timed herself - <em>45 seconds</em>. She sent a meme to Kenny, who has still not responded. She considered going back to the cafe down the street, redeeming herself by flirting Juliet's pants off, but the idea did not tickle her. She did not question why.</p><p> </p><p>And now, she is sat on Carolyn's kitchen counter - staring down a ceramic piece of fruit, having a mental conversation with about weighing the pros and cons of texting Eve. </p><p> </p><p>Cons: It could come off as desperate. Needy.</p><p> </p><p>Pros: Eve is fun to talk to, <em>very</em> annoying - Villanelle would surely be distracted from the fun-less Hell that she is currently being subjected to.</p><p> </p><p>But that is what friends do.. text, no? And that is what they are trying to be.. friends, yes? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She pulls out her phone, letting her legs sway back and forth as she sits on the counter, before shooting off a message: </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hi Eve!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She smiles when three dots appear on the screen - they disappear, and remerge a few times, before a text comes through:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🍎: Don't tell me you're texting to cancel on me tonight. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyes narrow. <em>Why would she do that? </em></p><p> </p><p>Actually, she would do that. She considered it in the morning when she woke up - a block of unresolved sexual energy sitting on her chest. Maybe blowing Eve off to get laid would clear up whatever confusion she has surrounding the older woman, but she really only entertained the idea for a few moments before deciding against it. She doesn't want another Stephanie. She <em>wants </em>Eve. </p><p> </p><p>She texts back:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why? Would you be disappointed? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The three dots do their little dance again, disappearing and reappearing, and Villanelle finds it reminiscent of the way Eve's eyebrow knit, and unknit, and knit together again on the roof the night before. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🍎: Well then I wouldn't have an excuse to not watch sports with Hugo after work, so yes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs at that. <em>Ah, Eve</em>. This is what her life has come to - running a bar for college kids to get drunk in, only to entertain college kids after work as well. She really needs to let go, she wishes she would let Villanelle help her. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I am surprised you do not like sports, Eve. You seem very competitive. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lucky for you, I still plan to grace you with my presence tonight! 👼</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve does not text back for a few minutes. Villanelle frowns. Maybe the kissy face was..<em> too much</em>?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🍎: Suddenly, watching sports with Hugo sounds very appealing..</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then another:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🍎:Why are you texting me then?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip. Because she is bored, duh, and Eve is one of the only interesting things she has access to in Franklin. She does not say that.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she texts:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Because we are friends? Friends text, Eve! Get with the times. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Plus, I got you something!🙊</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve does not take long to text back this time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🍎: ...?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🍎: Should I be nervous?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs. <em>Wow</em>, ungrateful much?</p><p> </p><p>She has a point, though. Villanelle would much rather be bringing a strap-on, or something more fun than a.. plastic piece of fruit.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>With me? Always!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🍎: Thought so. Gotta open the bar. See you at 8, freak.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, before shooting her a text back that serves as a double-meaning:</p><p> </p><p>✌️</p><p> </p><p>She will see Eve in a few hours, and she will come in peace. No shenanigans. It is a fragile situation. She has never tried to be.. <em>friends</em>.. with somebody, on purpose. And sure, maybe she is pursuing this specific friendship in hopes that the outcome will be <em>mutually beneficial</em>, but it is a situation she will need to handle delicately until the time comes. </p><p> </p><p>The painters finally finish around 6:30. She shows them out before going to inspect their work. She walks in and out of the bedrooms, around the living room, trails around the bathrooms - inspects every inch of it until she gets a slight headache from the fumes, but it has to be perfect. Thankfully, it is. It is all coming together beautifully - and with the sitting furniture arriving the day after tomorrow, Villanelle will be able to confirm its compatibility with the space, and begin purchasing more items sooner, rather than later. It is coming together quicker than expected. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe she won't have to stay in Franklin for an entire month, after all.</p><p> </p><p>The thought sounds that dull ache in her stomach, but it has happened so many times over the past forty-eight hours, she has learned to ignore it. If it still persists by the time she gets back to London, then she will see her primary physician. But until then, if it is not killing her, then she will ignore it until she finishes the job. </p><hr/><p>She heads back to her hotel a little after 7:00. She takes her time in deciding her outfit for the night - sprawling her clothes out over the bed, and considering each garment carefully, from where she stands in robe-clad attire. How does she want to come off tonight? How does she <em>want </em>Eve to see her? Casual, serious, still flirty. She wants Eve to know that she is following through on the whole <em>f</em><em>riends </em>agreement, but that her eyes are still on the prize; they will not stray from the prize.</p><p> </p><p>She decides on a checkered-pattern shirt, with mismatched checkered trousers. Two patterns that seemingly do not go together, but work beautifully when you put them together. She slips on some leather Gucci loafers, and a peacoat - as she doesn't know whether they will be outdoors or indoors.. <em>hopefully </em>indoors, unless Eve succumbs to her wiles quicker than expected and has some sort of exhibitionist kink, then outside is fine, too. She does a glance-over in the hotel mirror - okay, <em>many</em> glance-overs, she never fails to impress herself - and with that, she's out the door, but not before shoving the apple into her coat pocket.</p><p> </p><p>She arrives at <em>Forbidden Fruit </em>at 8:10. Fashionably late. She hums in approval as she opens the door to the bar, but that approval does not last long when the bar is just as packed as the night before. She has to plow through yet another crowd of drunk college boys - and <em>God, Eve is really making her work for it</em>- before she is met with the sight of Elena working the bar. </p><p> </p><p>She looks busier than the night before - she wipes the bar in frantic motions, grabbing empty beer glasses and loading them into the dishwasher behind her as she goes. Villanelle shoves her hands in her pockets, hoping to scurry by without an interaction, but it is a fruitless endeavor when Elena shouts her name as she passes, "Vil!"</p><p> </p><p>Hm, that is what they should have named the bar instead. <em>Fruitless Endeavors.</em></p><p> </p><p>The blonde bites her lip, turning around, and Elena is glancing over her outfit with a look of commendation, "That fit is <em>fire</em>! I swear, only you could pull off mismatched checkers." </p><p> </p><p>Elena is quickly busied when two men approach her to order another pitcher of beer, so Villanelle just nods a quick <em>thanks</em>, before pushing through the double-doors, and ascending the stairs to the upper level. </p><p> </p><p>She has to push through <em>two </em>couples groping each other in the stairwell - and <em>really, is this even worth it? </em>- before she makes it to the roof. The outdoor area is quieter, with the weather being a bit chillier tonight, but the picnic tables are still littered with bodies - a hum of chatter competing with the music playing through the speakers. She turns to see Hugo working the upstairs bar.. and no Eve, in sight. Her eyebrows knit in confusion, because if Eve made her trudge through the testosterone-fueled Hell that is taking place downstairs only to keep her waiting, she will be <em>seriously</em> pissed.</p><p> </p><p>She approaches the bar with a frown, where Hugo is taking her in the length of her body with a bewildered expression, "Eve didn't tell me the two of you were going golfing!" </p><p> </p><p>She grunts, knocking over one of the jiggers off the bar, which he catches with a, "<em>Hey</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>"Where is she?" </p><p> </p><p>"You know, Villanelle, it really hurts when you don't ask me how I'm doing or-"</p><p> </p><p>Eve pops up from below the bar area - very comically, like a gopher popping out of a hole. She slams a cabinet shut, pulling on her coat as she does so, before grabbing her purse and exiting from behind the bar. As she hurries around to meet Villanelle, she lets her hair down from her bun, running her fingers haphazardly through it until the curls fall around her face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh. Yes, it was worth it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She would push her way through a <em>sea</em> of drunk, hormonal college kids if it meant she got to see that hair in all of its glory. </p><p> </p><p>Eve pulls Villanelle from her half-dazed state, as she ushers the blonde towards the roof exit. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi," Eve manages, with a quick smile, before glancing back at brunette Malfoy. "You sure you're good up here, Hugo?"</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, do I really have a choice?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, not really. Good luck!" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just snickers, sticking her tongue out at Hugo, before Eve is pushing them through the rooftop door, and down the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>When they pass by Elena again, she shouts after them with a, "Have fun you two!" before throwing a wink that only Villanelle sees; was probably only meant for Villanelle's eyes anyways.</p><p> </p><p>It isn't until they're out of the bar that Eve finally takes a breath; her frantic energy dissipates into something relieved, and she finally stops to take in Villanelle. "<em>Okay</em>. Hi." She offers again, a calmer smile dancing across her lips. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi," Villanelle replies, snorting softly at quick transformation of <em>Work Eve </em>to <em>not-Work Eve.</em></p><p> </p><p>"Let's get out of here before.. somebody throws up or something and I get roped into staying." Eve nods her head in the direction opposite from the bar, motioning for them to move out of the vicinity. Villanelle tucks her hands into her trouser pockets, and Eve crosses her arms over her chest - they fall into a rhythmic, slow walk. "Have you seen the Allegheny in all of its glory yet?" </p><p> </p><p>"The <em>what</em>?" Villanelle raises her eyebrows, regarding Eve with stupefied eyes, as they turn onto the next street. Eve laughs.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm taking that as a no." Eve relays, and Villanelle eyes her carefully. "It is the river that runs through town. You can't come to Franklin without walking it in <em>true </em>Franklin fashion."</p><p> </p><p>She adjusts the purse on her shoulder, reaching into it and pulling out the neck of a wine bottle, which elicits a nod of approval from Villanelle, before she lets it drop back into her bag. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Allegheny</em>?" The blonde repeats the word back, her Russian accent curling around the letters. She scrunches her nose, "It sounds like a kind of phlegm or something." </p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs. Villanelle hums at the noise. </p><p> </p><p>So, they won't be snuggled up in some corner of a bar, or on Eve's couch - but she figures this is not a <em>total </em>disappointment. She likes walking at night. There are many stars in Franklin, and she doesn't have to be on guard, like she usually is in London or New York. Plus, there is wine. There are worse situations to be in, she supposes. </p><hr/><p>When they get to the river, Villanelle let her eyes settle on barely-moving water, while Eve opens the wine bottle. It is very.. <em>black</em>- as dark as Eve's hair - and she figures it would look more like a dark mass, blending in with the night, if it wasn't for the glittery reflections of the light playing upon the water. </p><p> </p><p>Eve uncorks the bottle with a soft <em>pop. </em>She takes a sip before handing it to Villanelle, stating a glass-less, "<em>Cheers</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle takes the bottle, holding it up in a <em>Cheers </em>fashion, before taking a swig. She decides to hold onto the bottle, as they begin to stroll along the river. The weight serves as a comfort - and she is somewhat surprised to feel she needs it right now. Alcohol is a pleasure, but rarely something she needs as a social lubricant. But her current situation needs.. <em>lubricating</em>. No pun intended. The situation is fine, yes, but she can't fully relax. She does not <em>hang out</em> with people often, or ever really - if Konstantin and Kenny don't count. She begins her night with strangers generally having a pretty good idea of how they're going to end - especially when those strangers are sexy, older women. She glances at Eve from her periphery - the woman's unreadable eyes, fixed on the water, give her no tell.</p><p> </p><p>She takes another swig of the wine, "So.." she offers the bottle to Eve, wiping her hand with the back of her mouth when Eve takes it, "you are divorced?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws at that. She regards Oksana with wide eyes, and narrowed brows, before swallowing a sip of the wine. "Wow, you are <em>shit </em>at small talk."</p><p> </p><p>It is Eve's turn to hold onto the bottle this time.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, <em>please</em>, Eve," Villanelle titters, "the one time I tried to.. <em>small talk</em>.. with you, you nearly ripped my head off. You are not the type."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes at this, but she gives a small nod as she takes another sip before handing the bottle back to Villanelle. The blonde smiles, accepting it happily. </p><p> </p><p>She is not the type to small talk either. </p><p> </p><p>"When did you get divorced?" Villanelle tries again.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sips gingerly. Her mouth releases the bottle with a soft pop - the sound audible against the quiet crunch of their shoes on the dirt as they walk along, occasionally interrupted by the sound of a wave breaking against the wall of the dam. <em>So quiet</em>, Villanelle thinks. It makes her itchy.</p><p> </p><p>"A year ago." Eve answers, tucking her chin into the neck of her coat - probably in an attempt to protect her against the chill of the wind. Her nose is a little pink. It is very cute. </p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't seem apprehensive to talking about it, even if Villanelle feels like she is pulling teeth, so she continues, "Mm, then why did you wear the ring for so long afterwards?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve's head whips around at that, and Villanelle has to pull the wine bottle away to keep it from colliding with Eve's arm. Her brows are furrowed in confusion as she asks, "How did you-"</p><p> </p><p>"You have a tan line on your finger." Villanelle interjects with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>Eve hesitates for a moment, before grabbing the bottle back - somewhat forcefully, and Villanelle raises her eyebrows at the motion.</p><p> </p><p>"Wow, you are very.." she regards the blonde with a disapproving look, "<em>observant.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I am." Villanelle agrees, cheerfully; proudly. "So?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, making no attempt to hide her eye roll, as she takes another sip.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know. It took me a while to.. fully process it, I guess. We were married for thirteen years." Villanelle gasps, disbelievingly, at that, but Eve just continues, "It is not the kind of thing you just.. wipe your hand cleans of. It takes time." </p><p> </p><p><em>Thirteen years. </em>God, Villanelle can barely wrap her head around that. </p><p> </p><p>The longest relationship she has ever had is with Konstantin - but she figures her boss, who she works for contractually, can't be compared to a thirteen-year marriage. One is born out of necessity - her and Konstantin's ability to work together, unparalleled - and the other is born out of free will - the choice to stay together in matrimony, to make it work as the years stretch on. Even though nothing about marriage rings true with free will, in Villanelle's opinion - or the multitude of opinions of the married women she's slept with. She wonders what Eve thinks about that. </p><p> </p><p>"What happened?" Villanelle asks the open-ended question, sincerely, curiously.</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets out one of her laughs at that - the cold kind, not the light kind - and she takes another sip of the wine, but she doesn't hand it back to Villanelle afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>"It your typical <em>failed marriage </em>story. We grew apart. He got complacent. I got bored. He was a good man. I was an asshole." She releases the words with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, so it was a <em>man</em>. Villanelle figured as much, but she couldn't be sure. Gay people are everywhere, even in Franklin, she's finding out. </p><p> </p><p>"No, <em>you</em> were an asshole?" Villanelle asks the question mockingly, and Eve guffaws, letting her eyes fall on Villanelle's with a spirited, "<em>Fuck you</em>."</p><p> </p><p>This time, when Eve hands the bottle back to Villanelle, their fingers graze. Villanelle stills a bit at the contact - the ache in her stomach throbs - but she recovers quickly, tightening her fingers around the bottle, before bringing it to her lips. </p><p> </p><p>Eve has an interesting way of talking. It is not so much like pulling teeth - Villanelle retracts her previous thought. As concealed as Eve seems to be, the older woman actually operates like an open-book. She answers Villanelle's questions willingly, and Villanelle was sure she if she posed a question that Eve did not want to answer, she just.. <em>wouldn't. </em>But the way Eve provides her answers is.. careful. She picks and chooses what information she shares; only seems to share what is necessary. Eve could have lapsed into a monologue about how she <em>feels </em>about her marriage falling apart, how she <em>felt </em>leading up to the divorce, but she doesn't. She only relays the facts. Pragmatism operating in full-force where emotion is.. unavailable<em>, </em>or untouchable, maybe.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows knit together, with the thought. She takes a slow sip of wine, and when she speaks again, she asks about none of this. No, instead she asks, "So you <em>are </em>straight?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth drop opens at that; she stops walking to swat Villanelle's shoulder, who recoils with a faux <em>Ow!, </em>but Eve's are alit with that delicious fire, and Villanelle just wants to stoke it. It is a familiar sight - something she can cling to. The blonde's shoulders relax for the first time, since they've started walking. </p><p> </p><p>"You're serious? <em>That </em>is what you got, from all that?" Eve guffaws again, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest, "You <em>really </em>are an asshole. Jesus.<em>"</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle gives her a wide-eyed shrug, <em>She was curious, okay?</em>, which Eve rolls her eyes at, but they continue walking. </p><p> </p><p>"And no, I'm not straight." Eve relays. Villanelle shoulder's straighten.</p><p> </p><p><em>What</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Eve goes to reach for the wine bottle, but the blonde pulls it away from her, prodding her to continue with her eye contact. Eve gives her an incredulous look, swiping the bottle from her hands, before mumbling, "You know, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, but you sure as hell aren't making it easy."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is unfazed by the statement. She never makes anything easy, she knows this. She questions further, wide-eyed, "You have been with women?"</p><p> </p><p>"Once." Eve takes a hearty swig, "In college."</p><p> </p><p>"And you liked it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure." Eve replies, nonchalantly. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Sure?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth falls a bit agape at that, because being with a woman is generally not an experience that leaves a person feeling, <em>Sure</em>, about it. The blonde wants to know everything - <em>did Eve initiate it or the other woman?, did she think about it afterwards?, how many times did she cum? </em>because <em>obviously</em>, it was not enough to leave Eve feeling <em>Sure </em>about it.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is very surprising, all the time, Villanelle is learning - mostly frustrating, sometimes just.. <em>interesting</em>. Not at all predictable. Villanelle doesn't know if she feels refreshed, or if she needs to jump into the river to regain touch with her senses. She does not know if she likes it, or hates it.</p><p> </p><p>It is that confused feeling bubbling up once again. A gray area.</p><p> </p><p>She delves a little bit further - hoping to push that gray into an area that is black or white, something that she can understand, "But you have not slept with a woman again?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve gives her an apprehensive look, swigging the wine, before handing it back to. Villanelle's hands catch the bottle clumsily, slowly, "Did you miss the part where I said I was married for thirteen years?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle exhales a bit at that, letting her shoulders drop as she lets the wine bottle hang lazily at her side, "But you are <em>not </em>straight?"</p><p> </p><p>She is doing the thing she hates - repeating needless questions, because Villanelle, herself, is failing to understand why labelling Eve's sexuality as something clear-cut is important to her. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Jesus</em>, Villanelle," she clenches her jaw, speaking through gritted teeth before turning to face the woman more head-on. Eve is walking much faster and Villanelle has to quicken her pace to keep up, which is funny because her legs are <em>much</em> longer than Eve's. "I'm nearly fucking forty, I don't lay awake at night questioning my sexuality. I just.. <em>like </em>what I like."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But you do not like me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ah, of course. </p><p> </p><p>That is why Villanelle was so curious to pinpoint the specifics of Eve's sexuality. Sexuality is fluid, she knows this - she has slept with many <em>straight </em>women, and she has slept with a few men, but knowing that Eve is  <em>interested</em> in women makes the older woman's rejection in her feel much more <em>real</em>. It is a fucked up thought process; one that she was not aware that she was even entertaining - that it is not Eve's straightness that is holding her back from sleeping with the blonde. It is just a genuine lack of interest in doing so. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is it a lack of interest?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Or denial?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle questions this, mentally, and it is not due to sexual frustration she has felt surrounding Eve - surprisingly - but more so to do with the fact that she can't shake the fact that the feeling she felt that first night her and Eve made eye contact was a feeling that was shared. There is no denying. Unless that was a.. <em>friendship feeling</em>? Do those exist?</p><p> </p><p>If so, Villanelle has never experienced it before.</p><p> </p><p>If so, it is probably <em>very </em>inappropriate that she masturbated thinking about the way Eve's hair curls that very same night.</p><p> </p><p>The blonde takes a moment to ground herself, swigging the wine, and letting her eyes wander to watch a squirrel climb up a nearby tree, slowing her pace as she does so. Eve follows suit, reducing the speed of her stride until she is once again walking along in tandem with the younger woman; her fire dimming into a slow barely-burning ember.</p><p> </p><p>"What do you like?" Villanelle questions, curiously. She should probably throw a smirk in, for good measure - but her face remains impassive. </p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head at that, offering her hand out for the bottle, and Villanelle gives it to her this time willingly. "God, you latch on to weird things," Eve relays, defeated, "I just mentioned that I'm almost forty, and you're more concerned with what I think about when I'm... <em>alone</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Okay, Villanelle smirks at that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She didn't say it. She can't be penalized for that one.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Plus, why should it matter that she is almost forty?</p><p> </p><p>Eve is very hot. <em>Beautiful</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Not you, asshole," Eve relays sternly, her eyes following the line of Villanelle's smirk. <em>Um, ouch? </em>The older woman throws her head back, letting the wine bottle knock against her thigh as she does so, "God, why are we even still talking about this?"</p><p> </p><p>She pulls her head back up, and when she does, Villanelle watches as the defeated look in her eyes turns into something <em>stubborn</em>, "No, I am not straight. I don't <em>know </em>what I like because I don't like.. much of anything right now."</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes, before Eve questions, "Does that hurt your ego?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow at that. Are they going to fight again? She can not tell if Eve's energy is playful, or serious. Again, <em>confusing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Does it? I'm asking seriously. I mean, you have a pretty huge fucking ego, Villanelle. With something that large, there tends to be a few weak spots."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's voice is leveled - enough to let Villanelle know that she is not actually angry. It seems like she is just asking the younger woman a question in return, curiosity with a shimmer of annoyance, maybe, but something Eve actually wants to know. Or she's speaking rhetorically. It's unclear - all Villanelle knows is that Eve is not actually angry, and that's good enough for her.</p><p> </p><p>"Does it bother you knowing that I'm not <em>not </em>interested in women? Does it bother you that I'm not going to sleep with you because maybe I just don't <em>want </em>to?"</p><p> </p><p>Wow, it's not rhetorical. Eve is seriously waiting for an answer.</p><p> </p><p>How is she supposed to answer that?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Um, yes, Eve - it bothers me because your eyes are alight with that fire and your hair is untamed so I would have sex with you right here, if you let me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or, just,</p><p> </p><p><em>Yes</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she carefully cocks an eyebrow, letting her shoulders draw up into a shrug, "Not really."</p><p> </p><p>Eve deflates a bit at that, her shoulders relaxing, before offering the bottle to Villanelle this time. She takes it, sipping immediately - letting the wine nourish her suddenly dry mouth, but she stays quiet.</p><p> </p><p>Eve continues, fumbling a little this time, "Well, good. I think you'd do well to be.. <em>rejected</em>, a couple times." Villanelle raises her eyebrows at that, because whatever train of thought Eve is speaking into existence - she is having a hard time following it. They share a glance, and a laugh escapes Eve's lips, a sincere one this time. "What? You're young and hot, and you <em>know </em>it. You're cocky as shit. Might do you good to be knocked down a couple pegs."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle already raised eyebrows transform from an expression of confusion, to an expression of satisfaction. Eve thinks she is hot. She sips the wine, grabbing Eve's arm to stop her in her tracks, before crossing her arms; cradling the bottle to her chest.</p><p> </p><p>"You think I am hot, Eve?" Villanelle asks</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows knit together, and she lets out a confused laugh, "I have <em>eyes</em>, Villanelle. I'm not blind."</p><p> </p><p>Wow, Eve thinks she is <em>objectively </em>hot. So hot that she considers it to be fact, not opinion.</p><p> </p><p>She is suddenly not bothered anymore - no, not at all. </p><p> </p><p>Eve plucks the wine from her crossed arms, raising her eyebrows, before she continues walking along the river bank. Villanelle rolls her eyes, before taking a couple long strides to catch up. She really does not like chasing - both physically, and mentally. It is tiring.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you wish that you did not get divorced?" Villanelle asks, her steps falling back in rhythm with Eve's.</p><p> </p><p>She is surprised that she is the one redirecting the conversation - she had an some sort of.. opening there, she could really be milking the <em>hot </em>thing, but she doesn't think that is something  Eve would receive well. Plus, she's not really interested in it. Shallow flirtation seems like a waste of time, currently, and she's still curious about Eve's life. There will be time to flirt later, but maybe not time for pressing questions like <em>divorce </em>and <em>loveless marriage </em>- Eve is a wild card, after all. It would not surprise the younger woman if she just walked away if Villanelle tried to push her a luck a little too far.</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs again, callous and short, before her face slowly transforms into something contemplative, as if she is trying to unwrap the question carefully before speaking life into her answer. Villanelle waits.</p><p> </p><p>"No, I'm glad we got divorced. It was the right thing to do. We were just.. <em>sucking t</em>he life out of each other, near the end." Eve sighs, letting her hands pick at the label of the wine bottle, "I wish that things would have ended on a better note, but that's life."</p><p> </p><p>Eve takes another sip, and Villanelle watches the movement of the bottle-opening press against her lips. Eve's jaw is a little tense - the blonde can see the constrained muscles moving under the skin, but Eve's expression still looks mostly open; only slightly guarded. Maybe she is feeling defensive, but Villanelle suspects it has little to do with her line of questioning, and more to do with however this.. <em>divorce</em>.. played out. Villanelle tears her eyes away from Eve's jaw, when the older woman offers her the bottle - and it is lighter when it makes contact with her hand this time, half-empty.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you wish that you did not get married?" Villanelle asks nonchalantly, trying a different approach. </p><p> </p><p>"Wow," Eve blows a raspberry, letting her hand come up to rub the back of her neck, "If I knew we were going to be talking about Niko this much, I would have brought another bottle of wine."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Niko, hm? Stupid name.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"There is always more wine, Eve." Villanelle relays, confidently - but she is not so confident. She figures that some of the stores in Franklin must stay open past 10 PM, <em>right</em>? </p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, quietly, "Thank God for that."</p><p> </p><p>The laugh turns into a sigh, and Eve runs a hand through her hair. Villanelle watches the movement closely, when a strand of curls gets caught around the woman's finger, but her eyes refocus on Eve's face when the older woman resumes speaking, "I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>It is an honest admittance, Villanelle can tell by the ghost of a shrug outlining her words, and Eve continues, "I never really wanted to get married. Niko did. We had really.. <em>great </em>times together, but I think it's what tore us apart, in the end. We always wanted different things, and marriage just.. illuminated that. I felt trapped. He probably did too, but he wouldn't ever say it."</p><p> </p><p>"What do you want?" The blonde asks quietly, her voice echoing against the stillness of the night. Another wave breaks against the dam. It's an innocent question - not interwoven with sexual yearning, in fact, she's not even thinking of sex. Eve is just interesting. She wants to <em>know</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Her answer doesn't come in the form of words. It comes in the form of a comical, timely interruption of Eve's stomach letting out a very audible growl. Villanelle quirks an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>"Food," Eve laughs, confirming her body's request, "I didn't have dinner. Are you hungry?" </p><p> </p><p>"I am always hungry, Eve." She replies lowly, a smirk tugging on her lips, and <em>okay</em>, she is thinking about sex this time. Eve swats her shoulder, before shooing her onto the street - away from the river, and back towards the direction they came from. She throws out the now-empty wine bottle in a trash can, before following Eve's lead to wherever the old woman is taking them.</p><p> </p><p>They don't talk much on the way to restaurant - but the quiet is easier this time, less prickly. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They sit in a booth in the corner of a dimly-lit Italian restaurant named <em>Bianchi's</em>. Villanelle tried to protest with a <em>No, Eve </em>when she saw where they were going, because if there is one thing she can't handle - it is bastardized American versions of Italian cuisine. She <em>loves</em> Italian. It goes against every one of her morals to eat inauthentic attempts of the cuisine- but Eve just pulls her into the restaurant a <em>Come on, asshole, </em>and Villanelle relents. Mostly because she was worried about what other late-night options Franklin has to offer, and she figures phony Italian is better than a <em>TGI Fridays</em>. </p><p> </p><p>She relaxes drastically when they are greeted by an older Italian couple upon entry - a older man with a bushy eyebrows and a bushier mustache, and an older woman with beautiful long, graying hair and glasses that barely sit on the edge of her nose. They greet Eve by her first name. When Villanelle greets them with perfect Italian, they throw their hands up cheerfully, conversing with her about good her Italian is. Eve follows the interaction with bouncing eyes, slowly nodding as if she can understand a word of it, before the couple ushers them into a booth near the back.</p><p> </p><p>The restaurant has obviously been around for a long time. It is scattered with red torn-leather booths, and there are framed family photos scattered amongst the walls. Villanelle observes it as she chews on one of the free breadsticks the older woman - <em>Francesca, </em>she learns - set on their table, giving Villanelle's shoulder an affectionate squeeze as she did, and mentioning something in spit-fire Italian about how nice it is to meet one of Eve's friends. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you know them well?" Villanelle asks, around a bite of bread.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Eve covers her mouth, swallowing a bite, "Kind of. I come here pretty often. I used to come here with Bill," Eve stumbles, her face paling a bit as if she just let valuable information slip without intending to, she tries to recover, "so yeah, they know me. I get take out a couple times a week."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle watches as Eve shrinks into the booth - as if she's expecting the blonde to press for more information about this.. <em>Bill</em>. It interests her, of course, but Villanelle can read a room - she's curious, but not stupid. She will leave that one alone, for now. </p><p> </p><p>"A couple times a <em>week</em>?" Villanelle asks incredulously, tutting, as she tries to ease Eve back into a place of comfort, "Do you not know how to cook, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve relaxes, grateful that the younger woman has resorted to playful mocking, instead of deeper prodding into the <em>Bill </em>situation. It obviously is still an open wound - is this Bill the reason for her divorce? She wonders, but Eve's reaction to the name was one of something deep - deeper than an affair. Perhaps Bill is the very wise, dead friend she mentioned last night?</p><p> </p><p>Eve's quiet laugh pulls her from her thoughts, "I'm a terrible cook."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow at that. Eve seems independent, resourceful.. but also messy, and frantic. She supposes it doesn't totally surprise her, but still.. Eve has had nearly <em>forty </em>years of life experience. She could stand to learn a thing or two.</p><p> </p><p>"I will cook for you some time." Villanelle offers, with a shrug. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>You </em>can cook?" Eve asks, incredulously, and Villanelle scoffs, offended. </p><p> </p><p>Wow - Eve must have really meant it when she pegged her for a <em>rich, entitled brat</em>. What does the older woman think - that Villanelle has her own private chef that travels with her?</p><p> </p><p>Okay, she did, <em>once</em>, in France.. but that is because it was a part of the job offer. </p><p> </p><p>"I am a <em>wonderful </em>cook, Eve." Villanelle relays, narrowing her eyebrows to assert her point.</p><p> </p><p>Francesca returns, placing two glasses of red wine in front of them, which Villanelle thanks her for with a <em>grazie - </em>eliciting an eye roll from Eve. She takes their orders; Villanelle orders Carbonara - a simple comforting, classic - and she has to hold her tongue when Eve orders.. Chicken Parm. <em>Seriously</em>? This is the exact bastardization she was referring to.</p><p> </p><p>Her and Francesca make eye contact, and the older women gives her a sheepish look, before relaying in Italian, "<em>It is what she orders every time</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just shakes her head, and Francesca hurries off, leaving the two of them alone, again. Eve narrows her eyes over her wine glass, taking a long sip before asking, "What did she say?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle takes a sip, letting a cheerful smile tug at her lips, "That I am very beautiful and you are lucky to be here with me. She is not wrong."</p><p> </p><p>Eve kicks her lightly under the table, and Villanelle gasps at the contact. She narrows her eyes, leaning down to rub the area where Eve's foot just made eye contact with her shin. Okay, if <em>she </em>is a brat, then Eve is.. the <em>queen </em>of brats. Kicking is very brat-like behavior. </p><p> </p><p>She is about to say as much when Eve states, "So you can cook, and you speak Italian." Villanelle hums happily, expecting the impressed <em>what can't you do? </em>to follow suit, but it doesn't. "Why?"</p><p> </p><p><em>Why</em>? What kind of shit question is that?</p><p> </p><p>"..Well, Eve, cooking is a basic necessity every person should-"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>, why do you speak Italian?" She interrupts, making a big show of rolling her eyes, and Villanelle leans back in her seat, letting her hand fall loosely around the wine glass.</p><p> </p><p>"I speak five languages." She answers, nonchalantly.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth falls open a little bit at that. It always amuses her that people are impressed by that. <em>Language is information</em>, Konstantin's voice rings in her head, and it is something that Villanelle has always agree'd with. Language is information, information is power, and so on. It only surprises her that more people do not share this viewpoint.</p><p> </p><p>"You say that like it's no big deal." </p><p> </p><p>"Because it is not." Villanelle shrugs, leaning forward to place her elbows on the table, "I travel a lot for work. It is part of the job."</p><p> </p><p>Eve raises an eyebrow at that - and she wonders if she's going to go into one of her spiels about the blonde getting to <em>do whatever she wants, go wherever she wants</em>, but she doesn't. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you like your job?" Eve asks, curiously. <em>Are you miserable, like me?</em></p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Villanelle relays, truthfully, "I like fixing things."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fixing </em>things<em>?" </em>The older woman asks confusedly, her eyebrows knitting together under the dim light of the restaurant. She leans forward over the table, letting her weight rest on her elbows, "I thought you said you were a decorator."</p><p> </p><p>"I am." Villanelle relays, coolly, "That is what I mean. I like making dull things vibrant; making broken things <em>beautiful</em>. It is very amazing what you can make a house into."</p><p> </p><p>Her words are light; airy as they leave her lips. It is true. She does not mind talking about her work because she likes it, it is one of the few things she likes, <em>and </em>it is interesting to talk about. It is not the same thing as Stephanie drawling on about selling life insurance. </p><p> </p><p>"Wow. How.. <em>poetic</em>," Eve replies in a monotone voice, her eyes fixed on Villanelle as she asks, "Is that your way of projecting?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks a quick eyebrow at that. Eve's tone is not scathing, not callous - but it may as well be. It may as well be, because it elicits the same reaction from the blonde that it did when Eve's tone was alit with a dangerous fire the first time they met. It only makes her angrier that the older woman's words sound cold; empty. Is Eve calling her.. <em>broken</em>? After apologizing for being assumptive, after relaying an entire bullshit monologue about <em>you need a friend, Villanelle, </em>Eve has the nerve to call her.. <em>broken</em>? Is that what she meant when she said sex is not what the younger woman needed? She needed to be <em>fixed</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's jaw tenses. She draws her elbows off the table in favor of clenching her hands into fists in her lap. Francesca comes to deliver their plates of food, and Eve's eye contact drifts to meet the older woman's. She smiles, accepting the food with a <em>thank you</em>, <em>Fran</em> and the blonde manages another quiet <em>grazie, </em>but she does not tear her eyes away from Eve. God, is Eve interesting.. or is she just a deceptive <em>bitch</em>? The arrow seems to be pointing that way, as Eve doesn't seem her concerned that her words carried much weight - no, she's just wearing a relaxed expression, unfolding her cutlery to dig into her Chicken <em>fucking </em>Parm.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't unclench her fists until her nails threaten to draw blood from her palm. When she does, she does so in favor of reaching across the table and pulling Eve's plate of food away from her before she can take her first bite. She considers throwing it at the wall, but she doesn't want to do that to the old Italian couple. Eve glances up at her with a confused protest written on her face, but her eyes only widen when she sees the intensity of the blonde's. Eve's throat bobs at the sight. <em>Good</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Wow. She is <em>really </em>mad.</p><p> </p><p>Yet another reaction elicited at the hands of <em>Eve </em>fucking <em>Whatever-her-last-name-is</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Do not speak to me that way, Eve. <em>Ever</em>." Villanelle relays harshly, the words whispered through gritted teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows climb at the sound of her voice, and she has the audacity to look confused. She looks between Villanelle, and her plate of food that is currently being held hostage, and back to Villanelle. She moves to grab her plate back, and Villanelle just pulls it further out of reach.</p><p> </p><p>"What the <em>fuck</em>, Villanelle?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm serious. I like you, Eve.." Eve's eyes widen at the admittance, and Villanelle is sure hers do the same - wide eyes, engulfed by a black fury. Does she like Eve? Some part of her body seems to think so, because the words leave her lips before she can even acknowledge them. She does not mind spending time with Eve - well, she did not mind so much before, now it is.. <em>questionable</em>. But not minding and liking are two different things. Like is a strong word. Anger blurs the edges of her sentences, but she finishes in an attempt at recovery, "but I do not like you <em>that </em>much."</p><p> </p><p>Eve is just staring at her, mouth agape and eyebrows knit together, and Villanelle should really not have to go the extra length to extend her an olive branch. Eve does not deserve a <em>twig</em>, let alone an olive branch, but her eyes reflect a sincere confusion and it just makes Villanelle angrier. And when Villanelle is angry, she is not so good at staying quiet.</p><p> </p><p>It spills out, Villanelle's jaw unclenches, and the words fall from her quickly, in an angry blurt. "You have serious nerve to refer to me as.. broken, or <em>whatever</em>, after apologizing-"</p><p> </p><p>"Wait, <em>what</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle does not like being interrupted. The fire in her eyes grow, but Eve interjects again, "Villanelle, I wasn't referring to you as.. <em>broken</em>." Her eyes are wide, and her hand falls onto the table in defeat, no longer trying to reach for her plate. "I'm serious."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an expectant eyebrow, biting her lip. If Eve is so keen on interrupting her, then it better be for good reason. Eve shrinks a bit under her gaze, retracting back into her seat, "I project onto my work. I was asking if that's how you relate to your job. <em>God</em>, if anything, I'm the broken one, Villanelle. I really didn't mean it that way." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyes shift from a shade of blatant anger, to apprehensive confusion, because.. how does Eve project onto a <em>bar</em>? Does she have a drinking problem?</p><p> </p><p>Eve corrects herself, watching the transformation take place in Villanelle's eyes, "Not the bar. I'm a journalist. <em>Was </em>a journalist." Okay, the anger is fully fading from the blonde's eyes in favor of just straight-up confusion, because <em>what</em>? Eve sighs, letting her shoulders drop, "I've only owned the bar for a year." </p><p> </p><p>They sit locked in heavy, confused eye contact. Villanelle jaw loosens, but her eyebrows stay narrowed, and Eve looks at her expectantly, before gesturing to her plate. </p><p> </p><p>"Can I have my food now?"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you going to elaborate?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws, "Are you seriously going to hold my food hostage?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle answers, seriously.</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares at her, slack-jawed and incredulous, when she realizes the younger woman is serious. Deadly so. She finally relents, throwing her hands up, "<em>Fuck</em>. Fine, yes."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle accepts with a <em>hmph</em>, sliding her plate back to her Eve, who snatches it forcefully. She makes an angry show of cutting off a large bite of her chicken, shoving it into her mouth, and chewing annoyedly. She swallows, and Villanelle is worried she might choke, but Eve's voice cuts through, defiantly, "Just so you know, I was going to tell you anyway." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle regards with a raised eyebrow, but she doesn't say a word. There is still an anger bubbling in her chest - but there is apprehension, and confusion too, and annoyance. Apprehension because she still doesn't know if she fully believes Eve wasn't taking a jab at her, confusion at the fact the more she learns about Eve, the less she knows, and annoyance that she allowed Eve to watch her react, to know that she had struck one of Villanelle usually-hidden chords. The blonde exhales slowly, before leaning forward and twirling some pasta around her fork, and her movements still a bit when she takes a bite. </p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>. That is delicious. </p><p> </p><p>She whips her head up to see Francesa, who is standing wide-eyed, desperately attempting to look distracted as if she did not just watch their entire interaction. Villanelle gives her a thumbs up, doing her best to yell around a mouth full of food, "<em>Meravigliosa</em>! <em>Bellissima</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>Francesca gives her a radiant, but still-nervous, smile. Villanelle imitates a chef's kiss, before twirling another nest of noodles around her fork, and shoving into her mouth. She chews happily - not looking up until she feels Eve's eyes on her; Eve is giving her an unbelieving look.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh, right</em>. She was mad before this. She forgot. The pasta is.. <em>very </em>good.</p><p> </p><p>She chews slower, raising her eyebrows at her, and she gestures with her fork for Eve to continue talking. She can listen and eat, at the same time. Not eating the pasta while it is fresh is sinful - something that would be heavily frowned upon in Italy. She would do no such thing to Francesca. </p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, scraping some food around on her plate, before beginning again, "I lived in New York, before this. I was a journalist for fifteen years before I.. <em>quit</em>, and moved here to take over the bar." She shrugs, relaying the information in a way that is the bare facts, nothing more - in a way that Villanelle is coming to understand as true Eve fashion. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises her eyebrows, lowering her fork as she is given the new information. She sits back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. It makes.. a lot more sense. Eve has an energy that is provocative, inquisitive, <em>activated</em>. It is much easier to picture her as a journalist, sniffing out the truth, than accepting her as a disgruntled bar-owner. The image makes sense, yes, but how the image came together does not. Villanelle chews her lip, before asking, "Did you get the bar in the divorce or something?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve cackles, cold and shrill, at that. "No, the bar was the reason for the divorce." She sips her wine, before adding, "The last straw, one may say."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, leaning her elbows on the table again, "Eve, if you do not want to tell me, you do not have to. But I am having some trouble.. connecting the dots here."</p><p> </p><p>Eve bites her lip, letting her eyes focus on something on the ceiling - and Villanelle can tell she's at the edge; she is just deciding whether she wants to jump in or not. It doesn't take her long to decide. Eve jumps, and Villanelle's shoulders draw up appreciatively, attentively. </p><p> </p><p>"Bill was my best friend. He died - a little over a year ago. He knew me.. better than anybody. He knew that my marriage was failing, that I wasn't happy with Niko, and that I wouldn't leave Niko without a push.. which is <em>probably </em>why he left me the bar, in his fucking will," Eve laughs, quietly, and Villanelle watches as her eyes glaze - tears that are collecting, but that she is careful not to let fall. "So after he died - I quit my job, packed my shit, and left my husband. With a note, by the way. I divorced him with a fucking note. And now, I am.." Eve pauses, to gesture around herself, in a way that is both sad and grateful, "<em>here</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle blows a raspberry at that. <em>Wow</em>. Eve has baggage. She was not kidding about the whole broken thing. It draws back a curtain on their first interaction, shines a wide spotlight directly upon it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Not everybody has the same opportunities - not that it even matters, because you're probably just as miserable as the rest of us!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve was stuck in New York, in her shitty marriage, and now she probably feels stuck here - trying to fill the hole in heart by carrying on her deceased best friend's legacy. It is interesting that the older woman was just as wrong as she was right - Villanelle is not miserable, at least she does not think so, but she can empathize with where Eve is. She was miserable for a very long time, before she was handed a life-changing opportunity. And that is where Eve was right, more right than the blonde was aware of, at that time - she is no longer miserable because she has opportunities. It is something Eve does not have right now. <em>Hm</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Eve is eyeing her, wearily, as if she is bracing herself for the <em>I'm so sorry</em>, or <em>God, I can't imagine </em>that usually follows suit when she allows a stranger this piece of information - the blonde knows it well; she used to wear a similar expression before swearing off allowing that information to be shared all together.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever anger was still lingering in Villanelle's chest dissipates as she takes in Eve's expression, as she takes in Eve's situation, as she takes in the fact that Eve's poor communication skills paired with the blonde's reactive energy do not pair well together; could probably burn a house down over a simple miscommunication. She softens, shaking her head as she exhales a puff of air, "It is interesting that you were a journalist, Eve, when you are such a shit communicator." </p><p> </p><p>Eve barks a laugh at that, relaxing with the jab, relaxing with the fact that whatever pity she expected to get from the younger woman is no-where in sight. Villanelle bites back a smile at the sound. "<em>Touché</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle glances upon her, her eyes turning from something playful to something more understanding, before carefully asking, "So, you are not even from Franklin, then?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, "No, I'm from New Hope. It's a small town closer to Philadelphia. But I went to New York for college when I was 18, and I.. never looked back." A small smile tugs at Eve's lip at the remembrance, as if her heart is still there - failed marriage and lost job, aside.. Villanelle wonders if Eve feels the way about New York as she does about Paris. The small twinkle in her eyes lead her to believe she does. "Hugo and Elena are form New York, too."</p><p> </p><p>"Really?" Villanelle asks, her eyebrows knitting together. No matter their presence in Franklin seemed bizarrely out-of-place. Did they move here together? Maybe the dysfunctional family dynamic is more literal than she thought. <em>Weird</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods, sipping her wine, "Mhm. Elena and I worked together, and Hugo worked for Bill. He is actually more qualified to be running the bar than me. He majored in Business, and worked for Bill as some kind of internship. He wants to open a bar of his own some day. Some sort of luxury, penthouse bar with half-naked women running around, I'm sure." Eve rolls her eyes, her lip curling in disgust, and Villanelle snorts at that. She can imagine it a little too well. It is.. disgusting.</p><p> </p><p>"Elena and I used to go for drinks after work every Friday. And Wednesdays. And sometimes Tuesday, and.<em>. you get the point.</em>" Eve shoos her hand as if to say, <em>yes, being a journalist makes you drink a lot</em>, before continuing, "The three of us - Elena, Bill, and I -  became fast friends, but Bill and I got very close. Sometimes, I wonder if he was my soulmate.. in a, uh, platonic type of way."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises her eyebrows at that.</p><p> </p><p>"He was gay."</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Bill closed up his bar in New York a few years ago. He said it was because he was getting too old or something, which was.. <em>bullshit</em>. Seriously. Bill was youthful as ever." Eve is smiling again - a sincere one, one that stretches her lips out in a wide grin, and Villanelle watches it happen with a small smile of her own. "But he moved down here and opened <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>. He died a year later.. and now, here we are. Another year later. Funny how time moves."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's smile dissipates, and Villanelle desperately racks her brain for a joke, considers doing a tap-dance, <em>something. </em>She mourns Eve's smile, the same way she mourns her hair when it is tied in that lousy bun, and it is a bizarre feeling. She comes up empty. </p><p> </p><p>"So, you all just.. moved here?" Villanelle asks again, trying to wrap her head around the idea of three people, who aren't family, uprooting their lives to work at a dive bar in <em>the-middle-of-no-where</em>, Pennsylvania.</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods again, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass as she takes another sip, "Yes. Elena quit shortly after I did. Hugo tagged along, without being asked." She bites her lip, exhaling deeply, "It's hard to explain. But if you knew Bill, you'd understand. He was the type of person who.. you'd spend the rest of your life trying to feel close to. A big loss. <em>Massive</em>. I don't feel like he left a hole inside of me, I feel like I <em>am</em> the hole." Eve pauses to glance up at Villanelle, "Does that make sense?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, softly. </p><p> </p><p>"We said it'd only be a year." Eve sighs, "And a year is coming up. We still haven't talked about what we're going to do. I don't think anybody knows. It's like.. we're trying to uphold his legacy, but it's just.. not the same. He opened <em>Forbidden Fruit </em>as a covert gay bar," Eve laughs quietly; Villanelle raises her eyebrows, "a successful one, too. Wealthy business men would travel from New York just to entertain low-risk affairs. And now, it's just some.. <em>fucking</em> hole-in-the-wall for college kids to get hammered." Eve shakes her head, and the movement is outlined by a palpable disappointment. Villanelle feels it - the desperation, the devastation - and she sighs.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, that is.. <em>not </em>your fault, Eve. You are doing your best. It is impossible to keep things.. the same." She adds sincerely, her voice allowing a quiet honesty to take place between the two of them, and Eve is regarding her with big, shimmery eyes. Villanelle clears her throat, realizing the latter half of what Eve just told her, and desperate to change pace a bit, "Wait, so you did not name <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>? It is just a coincidence?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows knit together, confused, "How do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle fishes the ceramic apple out of her coat pocket, placing it on the table. "Eve and the apple, you know?" Eve quirks an eyebrow, "<em>Forbidden Fruit</em>? Tree of Knowledge?" Villanelle questions further, disbelievingly, as the cogs take a moment to click in Eve's brain.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, <em>wow</em>. I - I didn't even think about that." Eve's eyebrows raise to her hairline, and she picks up the plastic apple - examining it in her hand. "That's just a coincidence."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, well.. this is kind of a shit gift then." Villanelle relays, leaning forward to reach for the apple, but Eve clutches it to her chest. Villanelle raises an eyebrow, letting her hand fall back into her lap, "I did not know <em>Forbidden Fruit </em>was in reference to.. <em>penises</em>. It is a penis apple."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs at that - booming and loud; the snort-filled laughter that she heard the first night she stumbled into the renounced-gay bar. Francesca jumps a little at the noise, but Villanelle just smiles. It is an ugly laugh, a happy laugh; a very nice sound. </p><p> </p><p>"I love it." Eve states, still smiling, and she opens her purse to drop the apple into it. Villanelle hums contentedly, and they both take a sip of their wine - the food long-forgotten in front of them - before Eve lets her shoulders drop, running a hand through her hair, before asking, "So, what about you?"</p><p> </p><p>Confusion washes over Villanelle's features, and she speaks slowly, when she asks, "Did <em>my </em>dead best friend leave me a gay bar in his will? No."</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws, picking up a breadstick and throwing it at Villanelle's chest. Francesca claps at the motion, and they both look over at her to receive a chastising look. Villanelle shakes her head, as Eve shrinks into her seat yet again, clutching her wing glass and sulking, "<em>No</em>, asshole. Where are you from?"</p><p> </p><p>"Russia."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I got that." Eve remarks, snidely. "<em>Where </em>in Russia?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, do you know St. Petersburg?" Villanelle asks, taking a bite out of the breadstick Eve threw at her. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, actually." Eve perks up a bit, "Very beautiful, I've heard." </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, it is." Villanelle chews. "I am not from there."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth parts at that, confusion crinkling the corners of her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"No where near there, actually." Villanelle finally swallows the massive bite she took. "I am from a shit town pretty far away." </p><p> </p><p>The blonde really does not feel like addressing anything having to do with her childhood, and she has learned that even speaking about something as simple as her home-town can lead into that. So, she is surprised when she shoots Eve a warning glance, and something very interesting happens. Eve doesn't prod further. Her eyes are filled to the brim with curiosity, countless questions - Villanelle can see them floating around - but the older woman doesn't dig. For as much of an asshole as Eve can be, it is interesting that she seems to exert a certain level of patience and respect when it comes to acknowledging the lines surrounding what Villanelle wants to share, and does not want to share. They have already seemed to fallen into some sort of dance - she gauges when Eve looks open enough to ask an intimate question, and trusts that Eve will just tell her if she does not want to talk about it, and Eve seems to know when Villanelle wants to leave a certain stone unturned. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is this what friendship is?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Right now though, Eve's eyes are still holding that sense of openness, that unguarded energy taking up temporary residence in her irises, and Villanelle relishes in it. She figures some part of it has to do with the wine - the pink tinge of Eve's cheeks must mean something - and some part that they have now spent a few hours together and they have not killed each other. </p><p> </p><p>It is a good sign, so Villanelle asks, cautiously, "How did Bill die?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't recoil, her shoulders don't square; in fact, her body language doesn't really change at all. She just answers, simply, "Cancer. I think he knew long before he told us. Probably why he moved out here." Eve sits slouched in her seat, shaking her head, "The bastard."</p><p> </p><p>Hm, moving away so your friends don't have to watch you die is.. <em>dignified, stubborn</em>. Something Eve would do, maybe. She wonders if they were very much the same. She wonders if she would like Bill, how she likes Eve. He seems fun - he did open an underground gay bar, after all. If it wasn't for Bill, Villanelle probably would not have met Eve. <em>Hm</em>. She probably would have liked Bill, she decides. </p><p> </p><p>"It is hard to lose somebody that knows you very well." Villanelle utters softly, letting her eyes focus on the wine in her glass, "It feels.. like you lose a part of yourself, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth parts a bit. She nods, softly, and Villanelle doesn't miss the slight look of awe in her eye. </p><p> </p><p>It is a careful admission - but an admission, none the less. It is a way of letting Eve know that <em>yes, I understand</em>, and <em>yes, I have lost someone too</em>, and <em>yes, I am sorry</em>, without dressing it up with all the useless jargon people tend to use. Without dressing it up with the details of her own trauma.</p><p> </p><p>They fall into a quiet silence - this one easier than the last; in fact, not prickly at all. It stretches on for a very long time, until Francesca comes up to them asking if they want boxes, before chastising Villanelle in Italian for not finishing her plate. They converse for a bit, still in Italian, and the blonde makes sure to include that she is <em>very </em>sad because she thought Eve and her were on a date, but Eve had spent the entire time complaining about her ex-husband. Francesca grabs Eve's plate, but not before chastising her with a "<em>Non dire cazzate!" </em>before hurrying off to box their food up.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle howls with laughter at that - especially when Eve is just sat there wide-eyed, and shocked, and when Eve sits across the table to plead with, "<em>Villanelle, what the fuck did you say to her?</em>", the blonde just laughs harder.</p><hr/><p>They're walking back towards the direction of the bar - Eve is talking, mumbling some complaints about Villanelle paying for dinner and tipping 40%, but the younger woman is only half-listening. The dull ache in her stomach has transformed into a gentle warmth, and Villanelle feels oddly.. <em>content</em>, with how the night is coming to a close. Even if she pretty certain she is not getting invited up to Eve's apartment tonight, it does not feel like a waste of time. </p><p> </p><p>Eve is trying to fit the take-out box into her purse - and she hands Villanelle the ceramic apple with a stark, <em>hold this real quick - </em>and Villanelle watches amusedly as Eve tries to Tetris the the food into such a small space. Her eyebrows raise in surprise when Eve actually does.</p><p> </p><p>She offers the apple back to Eve, who takes it triumphantly, plopping into her bag, before asking, "Were you named after Eve from the Bible?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, tucking her hands into her coat pockets as they walk along, "Yeah. My parents are pretty.. <em>devout </em>Christians." </p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Villanelle nods, scratching her chin, "It must have been disappointing for her when she realized she was pregnant with the seed of the devil." </p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs at that, and her eyes are wide with incredulity when she smacks Villanelle's shoulder for the third time tonight. Kicking, hitting - Eve plays dirty. Villanelle will wonder if she will have bruises by the time she returns to her hotel tonight. If she has bruises from Eve, she wishes they would be from more.. stimulating actives, but she supposes those will have to be earned. She will accept the frail punches Eve throws tonight, mostly because they are pitiful. Eve is weak - like a baby bird, maybe Villanelle will teach her how to punch next time they hang out. <em>If there is a next time? </em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, "I like it. It fits you. You are a trouble-maker. Just like the other Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs again, rolling her eyes, "Were you named after a poem?"</p><p> </p><p>"No." Villanelle replies, shortly. Another thing she does not want to talk about, not after they have managed to get through the night without any.. <em>real</em> hiccups. Eve's puny punches and kicks do not count. And sure, they almost got into two separate arguments. <em>Almost</em>. Why start one now?</p><p> </p><p>"Were you named after.. something else?" Eve tries again, prodding this time. Villanelle can feel her eyes lingering on her profile, but she keeps her eyes fixed ahead.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Nope</em>." She releases with P with a soft pop.</p><p> </p><p>Eve grabs her arm, pulling her to a stopped position so that they are facing one another. She raises an eyebrow, and Eve's eyes flicker with something serious - not anger, not fire.. something that almost looks <em>pleading</em> - before she starts, "Look, Villanelle, I don't want to push you. I don't want to.. <em>force</em> you to do anything. But being friends means sharing some things and if you can't even tell me what your <em>name </em>means, for fuck's safe, then I don't-"</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle is not the name I was given at birth." The blonde releases it, quickly - in an effort to shut Eve up. She sighs exasperatedly afterwards, turning to continue walking, but Eve's hand shoots out to catch her arm again, keeping her firmly in place. She lets her eyes fall on Eve's hand, before letting her eyes fall on Eve's face, with a look of incredulity. <em>So much for not forcing, hm?</em></p><p> </p><p>"What is your real name?" Eve asks, curiously.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle is my <em>real </em>name." She replies, sharply.</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, "What is your birth name?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not Villanelle." </p><p> </p><p>Eve lets go then, huffing. "You're impossible." She tries to say it somewhat lightheartedly, Villanelle can sense that, but it just comes out disappointed. Villanelle rolls her eyes, catching up with a now fast-walking Eve.</p><p> </p><p>They stride along silently, tensely, and they are almost to the bar when she does it. She doesn't know <em>why</em> she does it. </p><p> </p><p>"My birth name is Oksana." She admits, quietly - mouth barely moving as she says the words, before they take a stern tone. "Please do not ever call me that."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh - uh, of course not," Eve stutters, dumbfounded at receiving an answer she did not expect to get. They are 1 for 1 then, because Villanelle sure as hell did not expect to give it to her. They stop in front of the bar, and Eve turns to her, adding quietly, "Thanks for telling me."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, eyeing the bar skeptically, before asking, "So do you live here too?" </p><p> </p><p>She meant it as a joke, so her eyes widen a bit when Eve responds, "Yes." She pauses, before adding, "Well.. above it."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, letting her eyes wander up to the windows of the second-story. She wonders what Eve's apartment looks like. She wonders if how Eve maintains her living space translates to the part of her that is messy or precise. If it is clean or disorganized. Maybe a mix of both. Maybe Villanelle will find out one day. </p><p> </p><p>"You sure you're okay getting back?" Eve asks, pulling her keys out of her purse. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve. If the worst thing I have to worry about it an eighty-year old man trying to follow me with his walker, then I think I will be okay." Villanelle smirks, and Eve laughs, half-turning her body in a nervous <em>I-don't-know-what-to-do-now </em>movement.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, well. See you soon? I guess." Eve offers, awkwardly. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sure. Franklin is a very small town." Villanelle lets her handles settle into her coat pockets. "Good night, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>She turns to walk away, and she makes it one step - maybe two - before Eve's voice draws her back, it sounds like an unrestrained after-thought when she asks, "Why Villanelle?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle glances at her over her shoulder, cocking an eyebrow. She lets out a humorless laugh, the puff of air slightly visible in the now-colder air, "Mm, maybe next time, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"Right. Next time." Eve nods her head once, before offering back another awkward, "Good night!"</p><p> </p><p>She disappears into the building, and Villanelle watches even after she has slipped inside before shaking her head - an attempt to clear her thoughts from the confusing nature that is Eve. She walks back to the hotel, slowly - taking her time, letting her eyes fall upon the river as she walks.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>By the time she collapses on her hotel bed, she has carefully recounted every moment of the night she has just been subjected to. Every interaction, every misstep, every laugh, every tense movement, every time she toed a line that she had not gotten close to in years. Villanelle can not remember the last person she told her birth name to. </p><p> </p><p>Well, she can. It was Anna. And that was seven years ago. But she didn't even consider telling Anna why she had chose the name Villanelle - it was locked up in a place that she didn't even allow her lover to have access to, so what is about Eve that allowed her the possibility of a <em>next time</em>? She knows Eve won't drop it, but what is more fear-inducing is that Villanelle does not know whether she will tell Eve or not. The fact that it remains even a possibility shakes the blonde to her core. It is very.. <em>confusing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Here she is, the third night of collapsing on her bed in a state of post-Eve confusion, and nothing is getting resolved. It just gets worse. What is it about Eve that makes her feel inclined to open a closet full of skeletons? </p><p> </p><p>Is it <em>friendship</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Is that what it is?</p><p> </p><p>Is she actually making a friend.. outside of her job? Somebody to go out to eat with, somebody to swap secrets with, <em>somebody to watch movies with</em>? Does she even want that?</p><p> </p><p>An image flashes behind her eyes of her and Eve painting each other’s toenails and she can’t help but snore into the quietness of her hotel room.</p><p> </p><p>She still definitely wants to sleep with Eve, and she is fairly confident Eve wants to sleep with her too. Even if the older woman is heavily repressing the urge. She can't even begin to count the amount of time she watched Eve's eyes trace her jawline when she thought the blonde's gaze was fixed ahead. She is not sneaky, <em>no</em> - Eve is painfully obvious. </p><p> </p><p><em>Sure</em>, she did have fun tonight. She can admit it. She had more fun than she had in a very long time. She is not opposed to doing it again. And she is definitely not opposed to sleeping with Eve. Perhaps they can be a <em>friends-with-benefits</em> thing? People do that, yes? Villanelle never has, because it has always seemed.. boring, time-consuming, but perhaps there is a first time for everything. She has never wanted to spend time with the women she had sex with, because they did not interest her. But Eve is interesting. </p><p> </p><p>And confusing. Very confusing. Villanelle is more confused than she was when she started. For the first time in a long time, she feels.. <em>exhausted</em>.</p><p>The blonde has never been one to tire easily. Even after big jobs, or nights out - she has a very specific ritual when it came to finding sleep. One that involved an extensive skin-care routine, silk pajamas, counting sheep, and usually a decent amount of tossing and turning. But she is so exhausted that she can barely keep up with her current thought process.</p><p>Sleep finds Villanelle halfway through it. That night, she does not have to shower, or drink champagne, or masturbate to lose consciousness. No, that night, she is so exhausted that she falls asleep on top of the hotel bed covers - still wearing her coat, and trousers, still trying to solve the equation that is Eve. She falls asleep when she accepts that maybe she is only beginning to scratch the surf of cracking a very complex code.</p><p> </p><p>She dreams about silly things at first - her and Eve braiding each other’s hair, and gossiping, like friends do. Soon after, she dreams about the inner workings of her desires - fucking Eve on the bar top at <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>. But then, she dreams about very simple things - the subtle warmth that lights Eve’s eyes, and the pink tinge of her cheeks after she drinks wine. After that, she doesn’t dream at all - she just sleeps, heavily; floating in an empty black space. <br/><br/><br/>Her unconscious pushes the ultimatum: it is either Eve, or nothing at all.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>wondering if I should tag this as misogynist!villanelle.. lmao. no, but for real - I really tried to outline and understand what I wanted to depict through Villanelle's characterization in this and some of that is inevitably coping mechanisms developed from trauma. it's a fine line, and one that is just as hard to write as it is interesting! same goes for Villanelle's sincere oblivious thought processes in re: to how she responds to Eve, and the all-consuming confusion!</p><p>I hope you all are continuing to enjoy this fic! only chapter 3 and it's been a hell of a ride to write</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow, this has been the hardest chapter for me to write to date! tried to push through some writer's block, but I think some of it will come through regardless. can't shake that disjointed feeling, but had to get it out so I can overcome it! I hope this doesn't feel like too much of a filler episode (lol) - promise I have the story shaped out, and we'll be getting into the meat and potatoes of it soon! less push and pull, one may say, but that is somewhat inevitable with this pairing, no? </p><p>at the very least, I hope this serves well as a further exploration into V's character in this universe! </p><p>as always, any kind of comments are so welcome! constructive criticism or simple insights! appreciate you all so much &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle wakes up the sound of her cell phone ringing.</p><p> </p><p>She groans, not opening her eyes, and she lets her hand pat the bed until it comes to rest on the small, noisy device. She silences it, before turning onto her side, and falling back into the deep sleep she was rudely awakened from. She makes it a solid two seconds before it rings again.</p><p> </p><p>She whines into the pillow, allowing one eye to open just enough to unlock her phone, before barking into it, "<em>Чё</em>?!"</p><p> </p><p>The voice of the assistant she had berated two days earlier carries through, nervously, "Uh, miss?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sits up, rubbing her face, as she realizes her error. The rare times she reverted to speaking in Russian were always purely accidental - she had to be <em>really </em>drunk, <em>really </em>mad, or half-asleep. The cause this time was the latter, as she had just been woken from the most peaceful sleep had fallen into in ages. She sighs into the phone, "Yes?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm, uh, sorry to bother you." The assistant stutters anxiously, probably still feeling like she is walking on thin ice after their last phone call, "I'm calling because the furniture went out onto the truck earlier than expected. It's actually going to be arriving at the address you provided in about.. thirty minutes." The assistant pauses, and Villanelle can hear her holding her breath before saying, "I'm really sorry. It was a mix-up on our end, and I <em>really </em>do apologize for the.. unprofessionalism." Another pause, and Villanelle wipes at some of the dried drool hovering below her bottom lip, glancing at the clock - <em>7:58 A.M. "</em>They're going to need you to sign for it."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stretches, throwing her legs over the bed and hoisting herself up, before answering, unaffected, "Sure, I will be there."</p><p> </p><p>She yawns into the phone as she treks a trail to the bathroom, unbuttoning her pants along the way, before asking, "Is that all?"</p><p> </p><p>"Y - <em>yes</em>," the assistant stutters, shock rounding out her words, "again, I'm really sorry." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums into the phone, gazing at her reflection with a small frown. <em>God</em>, she can not remember the last time she fell asleep without washing her face.</p><p> </p><p>"Why?" She asks, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear as she squeezes some toothpaste onto her toothbrush. </p><p> </p><p>"What - why, <em>why am I sorry?</em>" The assistant asks apprehensively, and Villanelle can hear the sound of her mouth opening and closing. She starts brushing her teeth, and the assistant finally asks, "Aren't you mad?"</p><p> </p><p>"Why would I be mad?" Villanelle asks, muttering the words around the toothbrush, curiously. She releases the phone from her shoulder in favor of holding it to her ear, "The furniture is arriving sooner than expected. That is a good thing. I can get started early." She admits, with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh.." Villanelle's tone, light and airy, is a harsh juxtaposition to the seething timbre she spoke to the assistant with during their last call, and she can hear the woman on the other line struggling to process it, "well, I'm happy to hear that it won't be.. <em>affecting</em> your schedule, but again, I apologize for the short notice." </p><p> </p><p>"No need." Villanelle spits out her toothpaste, before leaning against the bathroom counter. "Is there anything else?"</p><p> </p><p>"No." The assistant draws out, and <em>wow </em>- she is lucky Villanelle is in a good mood because the woman seems to be gravely unconcerned with wasting her time. "Thank you for your purchase. I hope you have a lovely day."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums into the phone, before hanging up. She makes quick work of shedding the rest of her clothes and jumping into the shower, ruminating on how untroubled she feels at the time that has been taken from her morning routine.</p><p> </p><p>It is true, what she said to the assistant - she is lucky that she caught her in a good mood. Because, the truth is, it <em>is </em>an act of unprofessionalism on the Warehouse's part. Sure, mistakes happen, but that does not lessen the disruptive nature of them - what if Villanelle was not around to sign for the furniture? What if she had been scouring an antique mall in the neighboring town? The blonde has every right to maintain a few ruffled feathers at what could be considered a substantial inconvenience - but as she conditions her hair, she realizes that her feathers are soothed; perfectly in place. But, why?</p><p> </p><p>She did have a very restful night of sleep. She feels refreshed; chipper; reborn. Before that, she had a.. <em>nice </em>night with Eve. Beautiful, but annoying, Eve. And now, she is able to look forward to a busy day at work. The combination of these things are allowing for a particularly good mood, and so she supposes, the assistant is lucky. <em>Very </em>lucky. </p><p> </p><p>She feels a little lucky, too. Even if she doesn't recognize the feeling.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>She gets to the house right after the delivery men pull up. She didn't put too much effort into her routine this morning - she left the hotel bare-faced, throwing her hair into in a damp braid, and she's sporting a simpler outfit - a white shirt with lips printed onto it accentuated by a maroon blazer, and floral pants. It is imperative to dress comfortably on days where she might spend half the day rearranging furniture - a hard-learned lesson after she ripped her favorite pair of Versace trousers on one of her first jobs. But, she still looks <em>good</em>. She does not understand badly-dressed people who excuse the mistake as one of comfort. You can be comfortable and still look <em>devastating </em>- she is doing it right now; the faces of the delivery men, as they hop out of the truck, only confirm this. </p><p> </p><p>She greets them with a simple <em>Hello, </em>not exchanging any further pleasantries, before taking to inspecting the furniture. They unload it from the truck, unwrapping it - and she takes her time in inspecting the condition of each piece. She checks for any marks or scratches they may have occurred during transport, but when she finds none - she settles for running her hands over the oak, and trailing her fingers over the velvet. Each piece is in immaculate condition, and she inhales deeply as she lets herself take in the sheer magnificence of the fabric under her fingers. There is nothing quiet like furniture fresh from a designer warehouse - a simple exchange from designer, to supplier, to buyer - and it feels like something akin to sex. She thinks about the wood being precisely shaved, the velvet being being meticulously attached, and she almost drools. It is probably the closest high she can get to sex - seeing beautiful pieces in the flesh, especially when those beautiful pieces are about to be transported into a home that she is decorating. </p><p> </p><p>She guides the movers into the home carefully. She instructs them on how to arrange the furniture in the living room, and when they set it down, she instructs them to pick it up back again so she can try arranging it a different way. When they set it down a second time, she instructs them on a third way she'd like to see it arranged, and so on. It is always a tedious endeavor - as she knows that she will rearrange it herself long after they're gone - but a necessary one. Plus, victorian couches are fucking <em>heavy</em>, and having extra pairs of hands to demonstrate a few possibilities allows herself to maintain her energy for when she needs to exert it later. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't make them rearrange a fourth time - there is something about the accent chairs angling in towards the couch, in the middle of the room, that sits right. She takes a moment to admire the pieces as they work together with the room - dashes of dark purple and sunset yellow, against the gray-purple walls. It looks.. <em>beautiful</em>. Open, inviting, but not too loud to make Carolyn tilt her hawk-like nose up in protest. She hums in approval, walking a circle around the living room with folded arms, while the delivery men just watch in muddled silence. </p><p> </p><p>She nods, pulling a couple hundred-dollar bills out of her coat pocket, before handing it to them as tip. They accept in wide-eyed appreciation, and she dismisses them. On the way out, she hears one of them regard to the others, in a volume that is much too-loud to be considered a whisper, "Bet you she's bossy in the bedroom. I'd let her boss me around. You see her ass?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Wait</em>." She commands, turning on her heel in the living room to face them, directly.</p><p> </p><p>The delivery men slowly cease their steps towards the front door, before they turn around - slowly, sheepishly, like three children who thought they got away with stealing from the candy jar. She takes a few steps forward to the scraggly, brunette one who had made the comment.</p><p> </p><p>She raises her eyebrows when she comes to stand directly in front of him, letting her voice take a sultry tone, "What's your name?"</p><p> </p><p>His eyes light up - as if he thinks he's actually scored a chance. God, what an <em>idiot</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Diego." He offers with a confident smile, squaring his shoulders in what she's sure is an attempt to muster up up a similarly confident air - but he just looks more like a.. worm, than anything. A worm with a terrible mustache.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Diego..</em>" She repeats, letting her tongue curl around the letters, as she eyes him up and down. "Do you deliver for this warehouse often?"</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, yes. Yeah, I do."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, good," Villanelle replies, crossing her arms over her chest, "I order from them often. Very often, actually." Any sultry inflection in her tone has completely dissipated, and has since been replaced with a calculating coldness. "I am sure they will be pleased when I inform them one of their delivery drivers like to make <em>lewd</em> comments about their client's bodies."</p><p> </p><p>Diego sputters at that, his eyes going from shocked to confused to angry in a comical matter of seconds. Villanelle wonders if she'd even have to call, because the wormy-looking man looks like he might just crawl back into the soil. He finally manages to stammer a response, "It was a compliment!" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, "I do not recall asking for one."</p><p> </p><p>The other delivery drivers are wearing looks of absolute horror - keeping their eyes cemented submissively on the ground, and Diego just opens his gross-looking mouth again, but she silences him before he can get a word out, "If you are going to make <em>shit </em>little comments, at least make sure you are out of ear shot first." </p><p> </p><p>Diego just stands there - jaw tense; frozen. </p><p> </p><p>She waits for a beat, only because she's interested whether he will do anything else to try and defend himself. When he doesn't, she rolls her eyes, before barking out a, "Go!"</p><p> </p><p>All of the drivers jump in unison, and they start backing towards the door. Slowly though - too slowly, like animals that are being too cautious in hopes they won't get eaten by their pray. </p><p> </p><p>"Go before I decide to do something much worse than simply calling your boss." </p><p> </p><p>And with that, they all scurry towards the door - the other two drivers echoing a quiet chorus of <em>Sorry, </em>and Villanelle is actually kind of impressed with how quickly they manage to get into their truck and drive away. She should have timed it - they probably set a record. </p><p> </p><p>When she sits on back on the couch, she makes no move to call the Warehouse. She never planned to, in the first place. It's not her style. Her way of handling things tends to be direct. <em>Hands-on</em>. Diego is lucky that she has many things to do today; lucky that she would prefer to expend her energy on her work, rather than giving him a bloody lip.</p><p> </p><p>Many people are lucky today, she realizes.</p><hr/><p>Her good mood remains unspoiled when she calls the antique store to see if they can push her delivery up to this afternoon, rather than tomorrow, and they agree. Her good mood remains unspoiled when she pulls out her laptop and starts beginning her search for rugs - it is one of her favorite pieces to buy; a piece that has the ability to pull an entire room together. Her good mood remains unspoiled, when an hour into her internet browsing, she receives a text from Eve. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>Mixing wines last night was not a good idea.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She snorts at the text. <em>Is Eve hungover?</em> She supposes they did share a couple of bottles between the two of them, and Eve barely touched her Chicken Parm, but still. God, Americans are so <em>fragile</em> when it comes to drinking. </p><p> </p><p>She tears her attention away from rug-searching, and shoots back a quick reply to Eve:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wow, Eve. For a bar owner, you are shit at drinking.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't get a reply for a while. Her eye catches the clock in the corner of her computer screen. <em>9:58 A.M. </em>She wonders if Eve is still in bed - pulling the covers over her head in an attempt to fight a headache. She wonders if Eve would usually be out of bed at this time; wonders if Eve is a morning person. She feels that the answer is most likely no. Something about Eve is very reminiscent of night - mysterious, gloomy, lively. Lively in the way of parties and chatter and late-night walks, not lively in the way of early morning commutes and 9-5's. Maybe it is just Eve's hair that reminds her of the night. Concealing and consuming, like a starless sky. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has four open tabs with varying rugs - all off-shades of purple with yellow accents and carefully picked - before Eve finally texts back, a half hour later. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>Uh, thanks? That's a good thing, I think..</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs at the text. She is about to text back a <em>did you fall back asleep or throw up? </em>but she bites her lip, deciding against it. She has to silence her phone, setting it on the other side of the couch, to keep herself from not texting Eve back, because the prospect is enticing.</p><p> </p><p>The older woman texted her <em>first</em>, which means she was thinking about her when she woke up, and that <em>is </em>exciting.. or she just wanted to recount her hungover woes to the person she caused said hangover with. The latter is <em>much </em>more boring, so she decides that it must be the former. <em>But </em>Eve is distracting - which is good, but not when she is working. All it took was one text for Villanelle to scroll aimlessly, not registering the images of rugs in front of her, but thinking about whether the older woman is a morning person or a night person. She will not text Eve back until she had made a rug purchase. It will be her reward. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It takes her a full two hours to decide to make the decision. She purchases a Miranda Purple Vintage area rug, once she convinces herself she is completely confident. It is a safe bet - and after all the risks she has taken with the house thus far, she figures it is the one thing she can afford Carolyn. It is an aged design - white and purple, with no other inflections of color, and dark enough to contrast the subtly of the purple walls. If you are going to use the same color as a central piece in the room, it is better to go with varying shades so the room does not look like a blob that has been muddled together. As soon as she gets the Order Confirmation screen, she reaches for her phone. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>3 Messages</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Kenny 💀:</em> <em>Since when do you like cat memes? </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Konstantin: How is it going with the home ? Not too much color I hope !</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>I think I'm dying. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't even consider responding to Kenny. He had missed his chance. She was bored yesterday, sure, but now - Eve has <em>double-texted</em>her. She is fully distracted; cat memes are a thing of the past, fully off her radar. She sighs, shooting a text back to Konstantin before getting to Eve, mostly out of obligation. He is her boss, after all: </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It is great! I just ordered Carolyn a rainbow duvet set! 😊</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She finally opens the text thread to Eve, when her phone starts ringing. </p><p> </p><p><em>Konstantin</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She groans, on the brink of throwing a temper tantrum, but she picks up reluctantly.</p><p> </p><p>"Hi <em>boss</em>," she grunts, dismayed, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"</p><p> </p><p>"Send me a picture of the home." Konstantin commands, skipping over any version of pleasantries, and Villanelle cocks an eyebrow at the tone.</p><p> </p><p>"I did not actually order Carolyn a rainbow duvet set. It was a joke, Konstantin. I thought you were familiar with these." She replies, her tone laced with a subtle stupefaction. Konstantin never asks to see her work; her projects are one thing he trusts her with, completely. When he doesn't release his usual <em>hyuck </em>at her joke, she decides that he really must be tense, so she replies, seriously, "You know I do not like showing my work before it is finished."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm serious, Villanelle," He replies, shortly. "Send me a photo or I will come to Franklin myself."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle groans. She has no reason to relent because she has never given the older man a reason to doubt her ability to pull together a home, beautifully, but she does not doubt that Konstantin would be on the first flight out if she didn't qualm whatever concerns he's currently holding. That is the last thing she needs - Konstantin in her work space, taking up her precious time.. especially now that she has something to dedicate her time to outside of work. Experiencing Franklin with Konstantin would be <em>much </em>less fun than experiencing it with Eve. </p><p> </p><p>"One second," she murmurs into the phone, before pulling it away from her face, and pressing the FaceTime button. He answers after a few rings. When he picks up he looks disheveled, his cropped white hair sticking up, and there are bags under his eyes that are indicative of either a long night of drinking Vodka, or not sleeping. Probably both. "Wow, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed," her eyebrows raise at the sight, and she smirks a bit - but his face remains impassive. </p><p> </p><p>"Show me, Villanelle," he speaks through gritted teeth.<em>Wow, what has gotten into him? </em>She knits her eyebrows together, mouthing a silent <em>Ookay, </em>before standing up from the couch and flipping the camera around. She showcases the barely-furnished home, the couches and chairs sitting beautifully against the background of the purple-grey wall. She watches his reaction, carefully - smirking to herself when his eyebrow raises in an impressed manner. His face relaxes into something contemplative; his expression easing from the tightly-wound stress it resembled before. </p><p> </p><p>She hums, mockingly, as if to say <em>I told you so</em>, before flipping the camera back to herself. "Yes, my work is always beautiful, Konstantin," he confirms with a small nod, but that tenseness doesn't leave his eyes so she asks, "What has gotten into you today? You seem.. <em>grumpy</em>. More than usual." </p><p> </p><p>He rubs his face, with the hand not holding his phone, "It is Carolyn. She is being.. <em>difficult</em>." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Oh</em>?" Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, because if Carolyn is being difficult then she should really know about it. She is the one decorating her home after all. </p><p> </p><p>"Not about the house." He clarifies, and Villanelle's eyebrow stays firmly where it is, prodding him to continue. He sighs, letting his eyes drift off camera before continuing, "She has called off our.. <em>thing</em>." </p><p> </p><p>"Your.. <em>sex </em>thing?" She asks, begrudgingly. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Villanelle. Our.. <em>sex </em>thing." He provides, releasing the words sharply; sardonically. Villanelle's eyebrows raise to her hairline as she watches the man's face settle into a well-defined pout. </p><p> </p><p>The last thing she wants to talk about is Konstantin sex's life. Especially if that involves Carolyn Martens. But she knows the older man's feelings have evolved over the year that they have maintained their.. <em>arrangement</em>. Konstantin started to dress better, would put on expensive cologne before going to see her; she even saw him bring her flowers once. It was one of the few things she wouldn't poke fun about. Konstantin had been in a better mood over the year that he had started to see Carolyn, and who was she to poke fun at something that drastically improved her work life? He allowed her decision over the projects she chose, more power over her office hours, and more creative control all together. A good lay can really do something for a person, but Villanelle wasn't stupid about the fact that the man was obviously in love. With a woman who was questionably a cyborg, and loved egg-shell white. <em>Idiot</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Still, this did nothing to make her want to talk about it with Konstantin, but she felt some sort of obligation. Like she should be there for him. He was there for her after Anna. Many times. </p><p> </p><p>It is a favor owed - one she does not like to remember.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you want to.. <em>talk </em>about it?" Villanelle asks cautiously, and somewhat uncomfortably. When they delved into intimate matters - which they rarely did - it was always on Konstantin's accord. She feels very out of her element being the one to initiate it.</p><p> </p><p>"No." Konstantin barks back, and her shoulders deflate a little in relief. He runs his hand over his face again, until his face is red from the contact. Like a very sad tomato with a terrible haircut. "I just want her to be satisfied with the project so I do not have to hear about it again. <em>Sooner</em>, rather than later. Do you really think you will be done within the month?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hesitates. She doesn't know why. She feels the dull stab in her gut.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," she offers, weakly, because it is true. If she continues at her current pace, she could be done in less than three weeks. That is a good thing, no?</p><p> </p><p>"Good." He relaxes into his office chair a bit, crossing his arms over his chest, and looking a little more.. Konstantin-like than before. "How are you doing? Do you like Franklin?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is fine." She shrugs, nonchalantly. "I made a friend."</p><p> </p><p>He raises his eyebrows, but when she doesn't explain further, he leans forward slowly, smiling apprehensively into the camera, "Villanelle, whatever woman you spent the night with and snuck out on in the morning does not qualify as a <em>friend</em>. I am sorry to say." He chuckles, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle drops her jaw in faux-hurt, before stating, "We had dinner last night and we did not even have sex! That is what friends do, no?"</p><p> </p><p>He eyes her, uneasily, "Sometimes."</p><p> </p><p>She watches as his face changes as he realizes she's being serious - apprehension, to curiosity, to something much more.. <em>suspect</em>. She watches the transition happen with narrowed eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>"Is she.. <em>older</em>?" He asks, warily.</p><p> </p><p>"..Yes." she replies, slowly. She can see the expression on his face, can read all the unspoken words floating on his face. </p><p> </p><p>"Is she.. <em>married</em>?" Konstantin asks again, even more warily.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>." Villanelle replies, pointedly. It is both a warning and an answer. She knows what Konstantin is getting at. It is written under his eyes, around his mouth, in the crease of his forehead - <em>Anna, Anna, Anna</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He relents a bit under the weight of the word, leaning back in his chair, "Just.. you are smart, Villanelle. I know you are. I am happy you made a friend. I have been saying you need some of those." <em>Just be careful</em>, she hears the words. He does not have to speak them. She grips the phone a little tighter in her hand. "Okay, thank you for showing me the house. It looks good." </p><p> </p><p>She gives a quick nod, "Whatever. Just do not make me do it again. Bye, Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, looking a little lighter than he did when their phone call started, and if it sparks a feeling of warmth in her, she doesn't let it show. "Bye, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>She hangs the phone up with a groan, collapsing back onto the couch, before finally opening her text thread to Eve. Her finger hovers hesitantly over the keyboard, hearing Konstantin's unspoken annoying words rattling in her brain. <em>Just be careful</em>. She is being careful. She is doing exactly what he has encouraged her to do for years. Spend time with people that she doesn't work with - time that doesn't involve casual sex. That is exactly what she is doing. She is <em>making </em>a friend. She kicks herself for hesitating, before typing out a text:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, Eve. You are old. :( </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do not tell me you are still in bed?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The three dots appear quickly this time, not doing their usual act of disappearing/reappearing before a text comes through:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>Fuck you. I'm going back to sleep. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snickers at that. She wonders what Eve is like when she is hungover - maybe softer around the edges; with less energy to bear the amount of teeth she usually does. The younger woman contemplates this only briefly, but she decides that Eve is probably much worse. Grumbly and loathsome. It is too easy to picture. She wishes she could see for herself. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do not do that, Eve. It is a beautiful day.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I would bring you coffee if I could but I have to wait for a stupid delivery.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And that is another small, stupid thing about Eve the blonde suddenly becomes curious about. She wonders how the older woman likes her coffee - maybe sickly sweet, in complete contrast to her personality. Eve is full of surprises after all. She asks:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How do you take your coffee?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The three dots do their little dance, and Villanelle watches them amusedly, leaning back on the couch and propping her feet up over the edge. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>Black. The darker, the better. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>Are you bringing some after all? Might as well make yourself useful and bring some food too. Something greasy.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares at the texts, incredulously. Eyebrows raised accompanied by a smirk. Eve is.. expectant. And, she likes her coffee as bitter as she is. Hm.. some things are very surprising; some things not at all. </p><p> </p><p>The blonde pushes herself off the couch, striding over the window in the front of the home, and looking out in hopes of seeing a delivery truck. There isn't one, of course. That's the trouble with a small antique store like the one in Franklin - they only have maybe two, or three, people working there which means larger windows for delivery times. She is suddenly regretting her decision to push the delivery up. Now she has to wait for a truck to arrive anywhere from 2-4 PM. That is why she she regrets pushing it up - because she <em>hates </em>waiting, and not at all because she wishes she could spend her time bringing Eve a coffee and a Bacon, Egg, and Cheese and spend the afternoon with her lazily on the couch. Waiting <em>really</em> bothers her. </p><p> </p><p>An idea forms in her head, and she treks back to the couch to pick up her phone, shooting off another text:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What if you bring me coffee instead?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cherishes the three dots at this point, welcomes them like a visitor she's been expecting to drop by:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>I'm going to need you to explain that one to me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>I'm the old, hungover one and you're asking me to bring you (young, not hungover) coffee?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow. She did not say no. There is a chance here.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes, I am stuck in this house, coffee-less, Eve. You are laying in your bed, coffee-less. You could bring us coffee, and lay on this very expensive couch instead of your sad bed? With coffee! It is a great idea!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span> I thought you were working?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I am. You can hang out with me while I work. It will be very fun.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span></em> <em>You're not really arguing your point here.</em></p><p> </p><p>A few moments pass, but Villanelle doesn't have to encourage her further because another text comes through:</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span></em> How do you take your stupid coffee?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle smiles, her fingers moving at the speed of light; the speed of the victory:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Iced oat milk latte with a pump of vanilla! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span> You are a child.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span> Drop me the address.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is still smiling when she drops the pin.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Children don't drink coffee, Eve. It is bad for them.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A few moments pass again, but Villanelle just hums victoriously. She imagines Eve pulling herself out of bed, running her fingers through her beautiful hair, taking a couple Ibuprofen. It is a beautiful fantasy - one that Villanelle desperately wants to believe is happening, and the buzz of her phone allows her to believe it is.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>My bed is not sad, by the way. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Okay, that one is too easy.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I wouldn't know ;)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span> Don't push it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There is a knock at the door 45 minutes later. Villanelle pushes herself off the couch, eagerly - she didn't hear a delivery truck pull up which means she is expecting a very disgruntled, hungover woman with amazing hair on the front steps. When she opens the door, she is met with the sight.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is standing there - eyes narrowed, and lacking a little light - and her hair is only half-pulled back, strands of curls still hanging in untamed waves around her shoulders. She stands slightly hunched, offering up two coffees annoyedly. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Eve," Villanelle smiles triumphantly, grabbing the iced latte from her hand before beckoning for her to come in.</p><p> </p><p>Eve takes a step, before hesitating in the doorway. She looks around the home slowly, in a dumbfounded daze. Villanelle watches as she does so. Eve looks slightly out of place in the victorian home - standing in a slightly wrinkled button up, and trousers, her hair toeing a fine line between untamed/tamed, and the younger woman can't help but think it is a very beautiful contrast. The meticulous architecture of building poking at the unkempt nature of a hungover Eve on a Sunday afternoon - that usual tightly-wound energy dissipated, if only slightly. Villanelle wants to pull on the end of Eve's string, watch it untie completely.</p><p> </p><p>"This is.. <em>wow</em>." Eve relays, dumbly, and Villanelle raises her eyebrows, letting her gaze bounce around the home before Eve continues, "I feel like I'm doing something wrong just by being in here." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle closes the door behind Eve, before leading the woman further into the living room, "I mean, you kind of are. Carolyn would not like if she knew you were here."</p><p> </p><p>The blonde collapses onto the couch, and Eve's eyes widen a bit at the admission, not moving from her standing position, "This could get you in trouble?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs, mostly because Eve does not seem the type to ward off trouble.</p><p> </p><p>"Sure, if I get caught.. but I never get caught." She relays with a wink, before collapsing on the couch, moving her laptop onto her lap so the cushion next to her is free. Eve rolls her eyes, before slowly moving forward and sitting next to her on the couch. Her body language is stark, uncomfortable. The older woman sits slumped in on herself, holding the coffee cup with both hands between her thighs. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle frowns a bit at the sight, "You should relinquish your death grip on that coffee, Eve. I <em>will</em> get caught if you spill coffee on this couch. Then I will have to kill you. It would be a very big mess to clean up." </p><p> </p><p>"Right, sorry." Eve runs a hand through her hair, leaning back a bit in a way the blonde figures is supposed to look relaxed.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle relents, setting her coffee on the ground before pulling her computer into her lap and opening it. She waggles her eyebrows at Eve, "Want to help me shop for a TV stand?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs at that, and the sound cuts through the tension in the air - cuts through some of the tension residing in the older woman's body, "So this is your idea of fun?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's raises an incredulous eyebrow, glancing from her computer screen back to the woman sat next to her, "Yes, Eve. It is very fun." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Hmm</em>."</p><p> </p><p>The blonde rolls her eyes at that, but she doesn't miss the way Eve looks at her computer screen amusedly when she pulls up the website of a designer in New York. She has only started to begin scrolling when Eve's jaw drops, and her tone is brimming with shock when she speaks again, "4,000 dollars? For a fucking <em>TV stand</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle gives a small nod, clicking on the TV stand Eve is questioning, "Mm, yes. This one is African Blackwood. It is one of the most expensive kinds of wood in the world." </p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws at that, turning her head away from the computer in favor of looking at Villanelle. They are very close, the younger woman realizes, when Eve's face lingers only a few inches from hers. Close enough for the blonde to smell the subtle coconut of the older woman's shampoo. Eve eye's look a soft brown in the sunlight of the home, and Villanelle can see the light purple bags under her eyes - indicative of the alcohol they had drank the night before. This close, she can see the fine lines lingering around Eve's eyes; it is reminiscent of experience, life, like the subtle cracks in a Grecian sculpture. She wants to trace her fingers along them. </p><p> </p><p>Eve clears her throat, pulling away so that she is sat in her original position, and Villanelle blinks, readjusting the computer on her lap.</p><p> </p><p>"So.. do you generally only decorate for millionaires?" Eve asks, her voice cracking a bit, and Villanelle feels a subtle comfort in knowing that she is not the only one who felt a temporary loss of resolve. </p><p> </p><p>"Mm, mostly." Villanelle replies, going back to scrolling through the page of TV stands, glossing over several but not really registering any, "But Carolyn is not a millionaire." </p><p> </p><p>Eve raises an eyebrow at that, and Villanelle supplies, "Add a few more zeros."</p><p> </p><p>The older woman's mouth forms an <em>Oh</em>, and the blonde can see the subtle disgust curling around Eve's mouth as she does. She wonders, briefly, if rich people upset Eve. If their first interaction is anything to by - Eve's assumption of her - then the answer is probably.. <em>yes</em>. But Villanelle does not blame her.</p><p> </p><p>It is her least favorite part of the job - working for enormously wealthy people. The disillusioned, expectant nature that comes with that kind of money is something Villanelle has had to face many times - has had to clench her jaw, and white-knuckle her fists to keep from sending herself into a murderous streak. But she, herself, is probably what Eve would consider rich so she does not say any of this. Villanelle likes having money because she likes the power of being able to rely on herself completely - and <em>yes</em>, she likes the added luxuries too, to travel, to eat good food. She can not deny it. She likes comfort, control. What she does not like is shady business practice, and wealth-hording; that is precisely what separates her from the people's homes that she decorates. </p><p> </p><p>Eve raises an eyebrow as Villanelle clicks on a $6,000 Sandalwood TV Stand, before asking, slowly, "What about you?"</p><p> </p><p>"What about me?" Villanelle questions, off-handedly, and Eve rolls her eyes. She does not like to play oblivious, but she also does not like open-ended questions. She likes to know what she's being asked, so she can answer accordingly - or work around an answer, accordingly. </p><p> </p><p>"How rich are you?" Eve asks, straightforwardly this time, and she rests her elbow on the packframe of the couch, letting her cheek rest against her hand.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, not as rich as Carolyn," Villanelle replies, biting her lip as she tears her eyes away from the computer screen, "but rich enough to have apartments in London, New York, and Paris."</p><p> </p><p>Eve raises her eyebrows at that, "So pretty <em>fucking</em> rich, then?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts, letting her eyes rest on Eve's, and the older woman does not seem combative. Again, there is that fire in her eyes - but it is a curious one. "I guess that is subjective, but Yes, Eve. Pretty <em>fucking </em>rich." </p><p> </p><p>Eve sips her coffee, not removing her cheek from her hand as she does, and Villanelle watches as the curiosity transforms into something less precise - something inquisitive, but not laced with an edge of hostility. "Where is your favorite place? To live, I mean."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks an eyebrow at the older woman, quirks an eyebrow at the sudden amount of energy Eve has mustered up and put forth into questioning her, "I thought you were hungover?"</p><p> </p><p>"I am." Eve replies truthfully, setting her coffee cup on the ground, before crossing her legs to sit criss-cross and face Villanelle completely.</p><p> </p><p>"That's why I'm the one asking the questions. More energy to be one the receiving end. I think it's a fair transition from last night, don't you think?"</p><p> </p><p>Mm, Eve is smart. <em>Sharp</em>. Even in her hungover state. It seems that the two woman share this in common - being very skilled in work-arounds, but also being very skilled when it comes to asking questions that can't be worked around. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, maybe in agreement, because it is fair. If Eve took the time to answer all of her pressing questions about divorce last night, she figures she can offer the woman simple answers about where she likes to take up residency. It is not an unreasonable trade.</p><p> </p><p>The blonde closes her laptop, setting it on the ground, before drawing her knees up to her chest so she can sit to face Eve. The dull hangover Eve is experiencing must be dulling some of the older woman's sense, because the closeness of them on the couch is a little bit.. <em>notable</em> - even for Villanelle, who would usually welcome it, if she knew it was going to result in an outcome that ended with them even closer, and with a lot less clothes. But she knows that it's not, and so the closeness feels a bit more jarring, and she briefly considers whether she should move to one of the accent chairs. But when she looks at Eve, and the older woman looks unconcerned and comfortable, she figures that she can handle it too. </p><p> </p><p>"Paris." She offers, honestly, and Eve quirks an eyebrow. "It is the only place I have an apartment where I do not work. I do not care for London - it is very drab, and so are the people. New York is fine, but I would die before I lived in the States. No offense." Eve snorts, waving a hand in a way to say <em>None taken,</em> and Villanelle's eyes wander off a bit dreamily as she continues, "but there is no where else quite like Paris, and I have been to many cities." </p><p> </p><p>"How do you mean?" Eve prods further, and Villanelle rolls her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>God, even as simple as answer of her favorite city is not enough for the older woman. She wants to get to the bottom of it; understand it completely. </p><p> </p><p>The blonde sighs, yielding to Eve's permanent state of curiosity, "It is.. modern, but the history is still in-tact. Not cobble-stone streets like Rome, but not as industrial as Berlin. The food is good. The wine is better. The people are lively.. <em>artistic</em>. The night life is incredible." Villanelle lowers her eyes, letting her voice melt into a purr, "The women are beautiful." </p><p> </p><p>It's Eve's turn to roll her eyes - and she does so, over-dramatically.</p><p> </p><p>Once she's done, she opens her mouth slowly, "I never got it. The thing about Paris. It seemed.. <em>over-exaggerated</em> to me, when I was there." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth falls open at that, her eyes narrowing with an affronted energy.</p><p> </p><p>"You have been? Why?" </p><p> </p><p>"For work." Eve offers, with a shrug - letting her eyes wander over Villanelle's twisting features.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, right. She nearly forgot Eve used to have a job that allowed her to travel. It is an.. interesting thought. She wonders what Eve would be like in Paris - drinking wine near the canal, ripping pieces from a baguette, smiling under the city lights. She likes to imagine it; likes to imagine Eve anywhere outside of Franklin, really.</p><p> </p><p>"You have made the tourist's mistake." Villanelle responds with a tilt of her chin, and Eve ties her eyebrows together in confusion. "To visit Paris on a work-trip. You can not get a sense of the city that way. It must be about leisure, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws at that, looking a little.. provoked, "God, you are a romantic, aren't you?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises her eyebrows, widening her eyes in a way to say <em>No, I'm really not</em>, but Eve continues, "It's not like I had much of a choice."</p><p> </p><p>Ah. Maybe that why Eve looks slightly.. <em>irked</em>. Villanelle watches as Eve's mouth purses into a straight line - lips sealed with carefully considered words, not spoken, but there - and it is Villanelle's least favorite thing to see. She wants to hear whatever the older woman is stewing about; does not like it when Eve tucks things away where she can not touch them.. even if that means another lecture about the younger woman being <em>entitled </em>or <em>spoiled</em>. It is less annoying to hear that than it is to hear Eve not speak her truth. </p><p> </p><p>To the blonde's surprise, Eve mouth starts to move again, and when she speaks, it is not a callous remark, or a monologue about class privilege. It is an admission - quietly spoken, and filled with yearning, "I miss traveling." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's shoulders deflate with the statement, and Villanelle's eyebrows draw together at that. </p><p> </p><p>Of course Eve would miss traveling. </p><p> </p><p>Eve is a force - something she subjects her environment to wherever she goes. A force too big for a small town like Franklin to contain. It is why Eve looks so out-of-place here.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't say any of this. Instead, she asks, "Do you miss being a journalist?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't miss a beat.</p><p> </p><p>"All the time." She answers, with a cold laugh - and Villanelle can feel it travel down her spine.</p><p> </p><p>"Why don't you go back? If you liked it so much?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve turns away from Villanelle. She uncrosses her legs, in favor of leaning back against the frame of the couch, and she lets her head rest against it. Eve's eyes fix somewhere on the ceiling - distant, and inaccessible. </p><p> </p><p>"I can't. Not yet, at least." <em>Because of Bill</em>. Villanelle doesn't need to ask, and Eve continues, her chest moving with slow breathes, deep inhales and long exhales, "The position I left will be a hard one to get back into. I knew that when I left. Elena and I both did. It was a.. risky move. Probably a very stupid one."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows knit together, and she wraps her arms around her legs, placing her chin on her knee as she observes Eve. "Are there a shortage of journalist jobs in New York? That seems.. unlikely, no?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's lips curl into a small smile, one that looks a lot like <em>If only you knew, </em>and her eyes only seem to grow more distant as the moments pass. Villanelle hates it. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure, if you want to work for Fox or NBC or any other major television network. And I did, for a few years out of college, but that's not journalism." Eve lets her head fall to the side a bit, a curl of her hair falling into her eyes as she refocuses her gaze on Villanelle, "Major networks are more concerned with covering up the truth. <em>Only</em> concerned with that, really. It has nothing to do with honest journalism." Villanelle nods, encouragingly, because <em>yes, that is how capitalism survives</em>, and Eve continues, "I made it a good.. three years before I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't sleep at night knowing I was working in a profession that went again every thing I was trying to stand for. So I <em>quit</em>, and found a job with a local, independent organization. That's where I met Elena." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth curls into a small, but honest, smile this time, and Villanelle knows it to be one of reminisce. It is not so much Eve answering a simple question about her occupation - but she is letting Villanelle in on an intimate detail of her life; something that probably served as a turning point. </p><p> </p><p>"This makes sense." Villanelle interjects with a small raise of her shoulders, one eyebrow raised, "That Elena was also a journalist, I mean. She loves to talk." </p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs at that, and a little bit of the distance falls away in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"The work was.. grueling. Longer hours. Shittier pay. <em>A lot </em>of travel. I was basically never home. But I was able to do the work that I had always wanted. I'd never been happier." Eve's smile fades a bit - and Villanelle can see a shadow of guilt curling around the edges, when the older woman adds, "Which is a fucked up thing to say because that is about the time my marriage started to fall apart." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow at that, nudging Eve's thigh with her foot, "Ah. You married your career." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Yup</em>." Eve releases the p with a pop, before finally pulling her head back up from frame of the couch.</p><p> </p><p>Before Villanelle can offer anything in response, a knock pulls her attention to the door. </p><p> </p><p>She pushes herself off the couch, leaving Eve sitting in a half-dazed stupor, before opening the door to two delivery, with a bunch of bubble-wrapped furniture behind themm. She doesn't realize Eve is behind her until she hears the older woman's shocked tone carry from behind her shoulder, "Is that a <em>fucking </em>chandelier?" </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, Eve. So much to learn. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It ends up being a bigger extravaganza than expected. She allows them to discard the coffee table and lamp in the corner of the living room, in favor of getting the chandelier up. Eve sits back on the couch watching amusedly while Villanelle instructs the men <em>further to the left, your left not mine!, a little higher, </em>until finally, <em>perfect, right there</em>.Villanelle is keeping her level of professionalism at an all-time high because the men seem inexperienced, and they are lucky Eve is there - she does not need to subject the hungover woman to a disgruntled fit.. but she is <em>very</em> close to doing so. </p><p> </p><p>The men install studs into the ceiling, and once they're braced - they begin to lift the chandelier to it's hanging position, which results in Eve covering her eyes with a mumbled, "Oh god, I can't watch." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip to keep from laughing, but to be honest - she is a bit nervous too.</p><p> </p><p>She replies, at a volume loud enough for everybody in the room to hear, "It is okay, Eve. They can not drop it. It is a 3,000 dollar chandelier. It would be <em>very </em>bad." </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't miss the way the men's body language recoil a bit at the admission, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from commandeering them further. </p><p> </p><p>The chandelier goes up without issue, and there isn't a body in the room that doesn't relax with the success. They ask her about situating the lamp and the coffee table, but she disregards the offer with a wave of her hand, and a <em>It is fine, I will take care of it, goodbye</em>. She tips them, and walks them to the door, and sure - maybe she could hide the fact that she's anxious for them to leave a little bit better, but who cares? The job is done, they were tipped well, and so on. </p><p> </p><p>When they're gone, Villanelle collapses next to Eve on the couch with a huff. Eve shakes her head, mentioning something about <em>God, you are a control freak, huh, </em>which Villanelle replies to with a quick <em>yes, you have to be if you want things to get done right, </em>which Eve accepts with a small nod. She's sure it is yet another thing the two very different woman share in common.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>They fall into an undemanding silence. The sun is casting an orange haze over the living room, getting ready to disappear from the sky, and Villanelle just continues to scroll through an entire warehouse's inventory of TV stands, while Eve replies to inventory e-mails on her phone. <em>Bar stuff</em>, she replies, when Villanelle asks what kind of e-mails her current job could even require. Villanelle nearly says something about how she <em>should be enjoying her day off, should really let herself just be hungover without having to worry about keg deliveries, </em>but she doesn't. Because Eve might be keeping herself busy because she doesn't know what else to do - and if Villanelle takes away the distraction, then the older woman might just leave. The thought isn't.. exactly <em>favorable </em>to the younger woman. It is nice to work next to Eve; to have company while she looks at forty different TV stands in varying shades of Oak. So she doesn't say anything; doesn't chastise Eve for working when she shouldn't. She just allows the silence to fall between them - the occasional tapping of keys on Villanelle's computer, the somewhat-frequent grunt from Eve in regards to a delivery mishap, and the on and off hum Villanelle provides whenever a song is stuck in her head. Which is often. She has a great memory, and the downfall of that is remembering whatever song she hears on the radio, or in passing in a cafe. </p><p> </p><p>Today, it is <em>Listen To Your Heart </em>by Roxette.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn't seem to annoy Eve - because the older woman just provides a <em>Seriously? </em>when she recognizes the tune, but she doesn't ask Villanelle to stop, or shut up. It is a great song, after all - even if Eve is pretending its not. </p><p> </p><p>Eve stops responding to e-mails, eventually, Villanelle realizes. She has felt Eve's eyes on her profile for the past uninterrupted minute, and the unabashed staring fuels a specific fire in the blonde's gut. With her hair braided back, allowing an unobstructed view of her face, and no make-up, she feels curiously.. <em>vulnerable</em>, under the weight of the older woman's stare. She stops humming, pulling her attention away from the computer slowly, in favor of giving Eve an inquisitive glance. </p><p> </p><p>Eve seems to sober, when they make eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>She watches the older woman's throat bob with a swallow, and she sputters, before letting out a loud, "Sorry! <em>Sorry</em>. That was weird."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows raise, and she can't help one side of her lip from curling into a smirk. She just lets her eyes take in the sight of Eve's <em>flailing</em>, before replying in an even tone, "It is not weird, Eve. I have a very beautiful face." </p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes at that, and the statement seems to allow Eve to recover from being <em>weird</em> to being her usual, annoyed self - but this time, with a little less edge. Eve allows her eyes to trace the younger woman's jawline once before adding, very quietly, "You look.. nice, today. <em>Different</em>. I don't know. More.." she trails off, and Villanelle quirks an eyebrow. It seems like Eve is expecting her to finish her sentence, but she has no idea what the older woman is trying to say - and even if she did, she's sure she'd much rather hear it from Eve's mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>More</em>..?" Villanelle questions back, curiously, letting her eyes bounce around Eve's face in search for some kind of indicator. More <em>what</em>, Eve?</p><p> </p><p>"Open." Eve finally decides upon, and she exhales a bit at the admission. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle frowns a bit at that. Not what she was expecting, but <em>okay</em>. </p><p> </p><p>She does not know what it is about the word <em>open </em>that brings the stabbing feeling in her stomach, but she does not like it. </p><p> </p><p>"Mm," she considers it, as she lets her eyes flit back to her computer screen, and Eve just watches on curiously. She suddenly wishes Eve would stop looking at her her - it is the first time she has felt that feeling, but her watchful eyes suddenly seem probing; examining. As if Villanelle is a frog with its stomach cut open, and Eve is the one holding the knife. It washes her with a feeling that is completely contradictory to the word Eve assigned her - cagey; <em>guarded</em>.</p><p> </p><p>If Eve picks up on any of this, she makes no remark of it. <em>No</em>, it is this moment when Eve decides to ask another question, unashamedly, "Do you live alone? In Paris? Or London, or <em>wherever</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks an eyebrow at that. That is one way to recover from unabashed staring, but not the way she expected Eve to recover.</p><p> </p><p>She closes her laptop, setting it on the ground, before turning to face Eve on the couch one again. This time, she lets her arm rest over the frame - slightly invading Eve's territory, but not enough for it to warrant a reaction from the older woman. "Is that your way of asking me whether I'm single, Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve shrugs a bit, <em>unfazed. </em>This woman has some real audacity - it is mind-blowing. "Kind of." Eve takes a moment to register Villanelle's shocked features, and she narrows her eyebrows before adding, "You were the one asking question after question about my failed marriage last night, with no issue. So.. what about you?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle guffaws, "God, <em>no</em>. I am not married, Eve. <em>Jesus</em>. I am not even thirty."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, turning to face Villanelle directly, "I'm not asking if you're married, for Christ's sake. God, you make <em>nothing </em>easy." She pauses, and Villanelle just shrugs, before returning to her original thought, "I'm just trying to get to know you, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"By.. asking me whether I'm single or not?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay</em>.." Villanelle bites her lip to keep from smirking, because sure - a lot of women want to get to know her that <em>way</em>. That way just usually includes sex - not perplexing forty year-old women trying to strike up an innocent friendship with her, but <em>whatever</em> - she will go along. "Yes, I am single, Eve. I figured that was obvious from me expressing my desire to sleep with you."</p><p> </p><p>Eve blushes - a soft pink dusting her upper cheeks - but her eyes don't lose their annoyance, and she shrugs, before responding, "Well, forgive me if I don't have a clear read on your moral compass." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle narrows her eyebrows at that. It makes her a little angry - and she's sure she could tie that up with the <em>assumptive </em>thing they keep going back to - but she also can't exactly fault Eve for holding ambiguous opinions about her virtues. She hasn't given the older woman much to go off. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure, I like sex." She shrugs, and Eve raises an incredulous brow, obviously feeling the understatement of her words, "Okay, fine, I <em>really </em>like sex. But I am loyal when I chose to be." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's brow stays raised with the admission, and Villanelle watches as a twinkle of surprise climbs its way into the corners of the older woman's eyes, "So you have been in a relationship before?" </p><p> </p><p>Whatever snarky reply Villanelle was ready to give dies in her throat. It dies in her throat because her throat closes. The moment pauses, stills, passes - all without a semblance of reaction from the younger woman. Her body has stilled, completely - and Eve is no longer sat with another human she was previously conversing with. No,  she is sat with a statue. </p><p> </p><p>Eve watches the transformation with wide-eyes; Villanelle is wondering if the older woman is mirroring her. She can feel the wideness of her eyes, the unmoving nature of her irises, the quickening of her pulse. Eve looks like she's about to reach out, <em>comfort her </em>or something, and that's enough to spur the smallest movement in Villanelle. The blonde swallows, blinks, before she strings together a, "Once. <em>Kind of</em>." </p><p> </p><p>Eve nods slowly, and her hands stay planted firmly in her lap - Villanelle cherishes their stillness, cherishes the fact that they aren't reaching out to pat her on the shoulder or do something equally as useless. Any reaction from Eve at this point would only fuel the fire of the self-punishment that is already taking place. </p><p> </p><p>"That bad, huh?" Eve asks, playfully, and Villanelle relaxes only slightly.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, rubbing her hand against the couch frame, before letting her shoulders drop a bit. Her mouth contorts into a small, tight smile.</p><p> </p><p>"You do not even want to know." </p><p> </p><p>"If there's one thing I've learned in my <em>old </em>age," she flashes Villanelle a warning look, obviously hinting at the text-jab she received earlier, "it's that your shit never stinks as bad as you think it does." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth falls agape at that, eyebrows twisting into a hefty confusion, and Eve laughs a bit before supplying, "It's an expression." </p><p> </p><p>"Ah." She accepts, her jaw unclenching in the process, "The English language has too many. It is hard to keep up."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sure." Eve smiles a bit, before continuing, "What I mean is that as bad your situation is, <em>was.. </em>there is always somebody who can match it, at the very least. Remember what I told you last night? I was married for thirteen years, and I divorced my husband with a <em>note</em>. I'm sure whatever-"</p><p> </p><p>"I had an affair with my college professor." Villanelle interjects. It is not an admission that is unwilling - not like allowing Eve her birth name, like the night before. She feels the words leaving her lips this time - and she has time to stop them, but she just <em>doesn't</em>. She doesn't know why, exactly - whether it's an attempt at recovery, to show Eve she <em>can </em>handle what's been through, even if she froze for a moment, or whether it's easy because Eve has set such a low bar. Has created a semblance of safety, inadvertently. Matched her.. <em>shit stink</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's widen, and then Villanelle does something that surprises herself - she continues, "My straight, married college professor." </p><p> </p><p>Eve does not respond - not immediately. She just sits there, eyes wide, and when she finally manages a response, it is just, "Okay. <em>Wow</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts at that - cold, but genuine, because out of all of the Eve responses she could have imagined, she did not peg that to be the one to come to fruition. It is somewhat.. <em>relieving</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"So maybe you are right, Eve. About the shit stinking. You think it is bad that you left your marriage of thirteen years with a note? She ruined her marriage of <em>eighteen </em>years by sleeping with her nineteen year-old student." Villanelle adds, with a shrug that is much too non-chalant given the matter they're discussing.</p><p> </p><p>But Villanelle is not very experienced when it comes to talking about it. She has really only talked about it in two settings: with Konstantin, reluctantly, and with the school-board, also reluctantly, after Anna's husband blew the whistle. Maybe the third time is the charm because she is talking about it with Eve, and she is doing so on her own accord. Not <em>entirely</em> reluctantly. </p><p> </p><p>She wonders if it should feel like something much more powerful than it does - like a release, or something equally as cathartic. She doesn't feel either of these things. It just feels.. <em>simple</em>. She wonders if some part of her is in shock - whether she'll feel very differently, later in her hotel room, when she's actually had time to process whatever the <em>fuck </em>it is that she's doing. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, she has only relayed the bare minimum of said information. She doesn't tell Eve that the affair lasted a year. She doesn't tell Eve that she used to cook Anna breakfast when her husband was away, and fuck her on the kitchen table afterwards. She doesn't tell Eve that they used to make plans about running away together, used to tell each other they loved one another. She doesn't tell Eve that she begged Anna, on her knees with tears in her eyes, not to call it off. She doesn't tell Eve that she's the one who told Anna's husband - after Anna <em>did</em> call it off. </p><p> </p><p>A few beats of silence pass between the two of them, before Eve finally exhales the breath she's been holding, "Wow, that is.. <em>pretty </em>bad." Eve blows a raspberry, but when Villanelle narrows her eyes, she quickly recovers, "No! <em>No</em>. Bad on her part, not.. yours."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle relaxes, letting out a quiet <em>hmph</em>, before leaning back against the armrest.</p><p> </p><p>"Is it fucked up that it makes me feel a little better about my situation?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets out a booming laugh at that - shocked and loud enough to make Eve jump a bit, "No. It was pretty bad." </p><p> </p><p>"Did you love her?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's laugh ceases. Whatever still-lingering chuckles were still taking place are immediately silenced by the question. Her lips purse, instead. Just when she thinks she's fine, Eve decides to ask something out of complete left-field. It should exhaust her, <em>no</em>? It should make her not want to be around her, <em>yes</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle recounts her the shallow conversation she had entertained with Stephanie only a few nights prior. She recounts the hundreds of conversations she had entertained with a hundred different Stephanies before that. Maybe it is time for a change of pace. A <em>friend</em>. She can handle this. She can handle Eve, she thinks. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip, inhaling a certain level of contemplation, and exhaling a larger level of unresolved feelings, "I don't know. Maybe."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Maybe</em>?" Eve echoes, dubiously. </p><p> </p><p>"Maybe." Villanelle affirms. "I have not had much to compare it to."</p><p> </p><p>The silence that lingers between them is quiet enough for Villanelle to hear the cogs click into brain in Eve's head. <em>Yes, Eve, that is the only relationship I have had, and it wasn't even a relationship. Something to say about that? </em></p><p> </p><p>Eve nods, slowly, chewing her words before spitting them out, "Yeah, makes sense. You were.. young." Eve cringes a bit as she releases the word, and suddenly, Villanelle is very curious what Eve must think about Anna. Not curious enough to ask. Not curious enough to stretch the conversation past the extent that it has already reached.</p><p> </p><p>"You are still young, though." Eve tacks the last part on lackadaisically - it sounds more like a question, an invitation to elaborate, rather than a statement.</p><p> </p><p>The younger woman picks up on the inflection, but she has elaborated enough today, she decides. She has given Eve more than enough. So she nods, conclusively, before asserting, "Mm, yes, but I am married to my work. You know a thing or two about this, no?"</p><p> </p><p>It was the right response to give, she realizes, as she watches Eve's follow-up question die on her face. It is something Eve can relate to, something Eve admitted - something she can not argue. <em>Maybe </em>she could, given the thirteen-year age difference, but Eve doesn't attempt.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Good girl, Eve.</em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>The sun is setting - casting shadows into the living room; large and looming. Their presence serve to surprise the younger woman; serve to remind her of the work she was supposed to get done today; the work that she only did very little of. It is something she can make up - she always does - and it is easy when the work left to do mostly involves ordering. It is something she can do very easily from her hotel room. The issue is, she does not want to. She has already spent her entire afternoon with Eve, but the older woman's presence is something that Villanelle would like to bleed into her evening - like a shadow, large and looming. </p><p> </p><p>"How are you feeling, Eve?" Villanelle asks, waggling her eyebrows, "Too hungover to get a drink?"</p><p> </p><p>A small smile blossoms on the older woman's lips, and she shakes her head, softly, "Never. Hare of the Dog is full-proof."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is about to push off the couch with a <em>Great, I know a really shitty little wine bar</em>, but Eve sighs, continuing, "But I can't. I have some work to take care of." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle tries not to let herself frown at that. Instead, she raises an eyebrow, "I thought you were off tonight?"</p><p> </p><p>"I am." Eve offers. She releases her hair from it's half-up position, before running her fingers through it, wearily. The sight is very unfair to watch now that Villanelle knows the older woman will not be joining her tonight. "I have some divorce paperwork to finalize."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, releasing an elongated, "<em>Booooring," </em>before leaning back in the chair, and crossing her arms over her chest. If she is pouting, that's fine - how else is she supposed to distract herself from the work she has to do? </p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks an eyebrow at her, mouth slightly agape. "Sure, Villanelle, I'm glad my pain and suffering is so <em>boring </em>to you." She lets out an incredulous laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, "So sensitive, Eve. You know what I mean. Paper work is <em>not </em>fun." </p><p> </p><p>"You're telling me."</p><p> </p><p>"You know what is fun? <em>Me</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, and when she stands to gather up her purse, Villanelle realizes she has already lost a battle she didn't know she was fighting. Her pout deepens, and she lets her eyes roll for good measure, before standing up to walk Eve out.</p><p> </p><p>She is trailing behind Eve as they make their way to the front door when the older woman stops, turning around in her tracks, "Oh, I almost forgot. Elena has been asking for your number. Can I give it to her?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs, "Absolutely not."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth parts, and she looks half-affronted when she asks, "Why not? It seems like the two of you get along. Plus, you seem eager to distract yourself tonight. She's off in a couple hours."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs, "She is <em>not </em>terrible, but she is chatty, Eve. If you give her my number, it would only be a matter of time before I started getting texts about boy problems and <em>who do you think wore it better</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth shuts at that, and she purses her lips as she looks off somewhere in the room. It is enough confirmation for Villanelle to assume Eve probably had a string of those very texts waiting for her on her phone. </p><p> </p><p>"Whatever." Eve grumbles, and with that, she turns around. When she opens the door, Villanelle doesn't hesitate before reaching around her to close it. Eve looks at her hand on the knob, then Villanelle's hand on the door, before letting her eyes trek a slow trail until they fix on the blonde's yet again. </p><p> </p><p>"Can I help you?" She questions, slowly - hyper-aware of the proximity of their bodies given Villanelle is reached around her.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing tomorrow night?" </p><p> </p><p>"Um, working. I'm not off till ten." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets her hand fall away from the door, but she doesn't move from her place. She just lets her arms cross over her chest, and she bites her lip before asking, "Do you want to come to my hotel?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve raises two suspicious eyebrows, and Villanelle can feel the chastising taking place before it is given life, so she interjects, "Not like that, Eve. Get your mind out of the drain."</p><p> </p><p>"The <em>gutter</em>. Mind out of the <em>gutter</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle taps her fingers against her crossed arms, "Fine. Anyways, I did not mean it like that. Come after work. We can order room service and rent a movie. It will be fun." </p><p> </p><p>Eve eyes her, skeptically, and Villanelle raises her eyebrows, expectantly. </p><p> </p><p>The older woman relents, with a sigh. "Fine, but no rom-coms." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip to keep her smile from growing, "Of course not. Who do you think I am, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>She <em>loves </em>rom-coms. </p><hr/><p>She's back at her hotel, a couple hours later, scrolling through the rental list on TV, and definitely not working. She pauses when a certain movies catches her eye. It is too perfect. She snickers, purchasing it, before shooting out a text to Eve:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Great news, Eve. They have 13 Going on 30! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A reply comes through less than thirty-seconds later:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>No way. Absolutely not.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Too late, already bought it!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't reply for a few minutes, but when she does, it is an ominous:</p><p> </p><p><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>You're going to regret that.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't get a chance to reply when a text from an unknown number comes through on her phone screen:</p><p> </p><p>Unknown: <em>vil! hey girl, it's elena! i got off early. come by for a drink? on me! xo</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle mouth falls open a bit as the message crosses her screen, and she ignores it. Instead, she opens her text thread to Eve, and quickly shoots off a message that she can only hope carries her the sincerity she wants it to:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You are a cold woman, Eve. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And when Eve replies, she does so a simple emoji. Villanelle wasn't even sure she knew how to use them:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <span class="emoji">🍎:🤷</span> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle switches back to the thread open with Elena, ruminating on the text. She could easily just blow Elena off - it's what she was planning on doing. She could throw her phone across the room, and put on some shit movie to distract herself, just like she had originally planned. But, as predicted, she can feel the off-kilter energy setting in from her conversation with Eve this afternoon. </p><p> </p><p>She had told Eve about Anna. <em>Anna</em>. Sure, she told her the bare minimum about Anna - it doesn't even qualify as scratching the surface - but she still allowed the information of Anna's existence to be known. She has known Eve for four days - less than a week, and she's tapping into conversations that she's reluctant to have with Konstantin, who she's known for five years. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't feel regret - it is not that, but she certainly feels <em>off-balance</em>. There is some inexplicable pull that makes her <em>want </em>to answer Eve's questions. It is both a pull and a push at the same time - like she is balancing on a rope at center of her universe, and Eve has the ability to send her spiraling if she so much as blows air in her direction. It is not that Eve makes her feel powerless - she would have already packed her bags if that were the case, but she is more confused about the way they effect one another. </p><p> </p><p>Half the time, she can't even pick apart whether she <em>wants </em>to see Eve, or whether her body does because of some inexplicable obligation. She figures that Eve feels it too - given the reluctance she seems to feign surrounding spending time with Villanelle, but she does it anyways. They like each other enough, sure - that much is clear now - but it is edged with something else. Incompatibility? Distaste? <em>Confusion</em>? It feels like they are playing a game of tug of war, and they are both losing. So what does one do with the rope connecting them at that point? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sever it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>See it out - even if that means bloodying your hands along the way? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The most dangerous part is that Villanelle feels like the former is no longer an option. If she were to cut off contact with Eve, she knows she would spend many sleepless nights speculating about what it was all about to begin with. </p><p> </p><p>When Villanelle catches herself slipping into a thought process that she knows will lead her on a shit train to nowhere, she decides to text Elena back, reluctantly:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fine. But you better be serious about the free drink.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Elena texts her back immediately, before Villanelle can even close out of the thread:</p><p> </p><p>Unknown: <em>lol, duh! get your hot, Russian ass over here! </em></p><p> </p><p>It is going to be a long night. She can feel it.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>She arrives at Forbidden Fruit half-an-hour later, and when she pushes the doors open, she is relieved to see the bar holds the same desolate atmosphere it did the first night she entered. Some oldies track is playing softly over the speakers, and there's only a few people littered through the establishment - including Elena, who is sat at the bar with her back to her, chatting animatedly to Hugo. When Villanelle approaches, she can see Elena is showing him something on her phone - what appears to be some very <em>average</em> looking man on a dating app. </p><p> </p><p>She sighs, bracing herself, before dropping herself in the seat next to the woman. </p><p> </p><p>"Vil!" Elena exclaims, before pulling her into a one-arm hug, which Villanelle does not return, but that does nothing to dampen the woman's chipper mood. Elena, thankfully, releases her quickly, before turning her attention to Hugo. "Get the lady a drink, Hugo!" </p><p> </p><p>Hugo cocks an eyebrow, offering up an apathetic, "Hello, Villanelle. I am doing well tonight. I figure I'd just tell you since I can't expect you to ask."</p><p> </p><p>She nods, happily at that - the man is.. <em>annoying</em>, but at least he learns quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Before she can get a word out, he pours a shot glass of Vodka and sets it in front of her. "Trust me, you'll need it. She has a leg up on you." He nods in Elena's direction.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, maybe Hugo isn't <em>terrible </em>either.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle throws the shot back, without so much as a cringe, before wiping her mouth and turning to finally address Elena with a tight-lipped smile, "Hi."</p><p> </p><p>"Hey," Elena chuckles, before turning her body in the bar stool to face the blonde, "I'm glad you came! I wasn't sure I'd be able to steal you away from Eve," she adds, with a wink.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs her shoulders, leaning against the bar, "She had.. <em>paperwork </em>to do."</p><p> </p><p>"God, that divorce shit is never-ending! Remind me never to get married." Elena pouts, sipping at her beer, before leaning closely to the blonde, "So, about Eve.."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle averts her eyes. Usually, she would welcome the topic. She is keen to learn whatever information about Eve that is not immediately accessible to her, but she came to distract herself from thinking about Eve. Not to indulge it further. </p><p> </p><p>"Hugo," she cuts Elena off, fixing her gaze on the bartender, "Can I get a gin and tonic, please?"</p><p> </p><p>His eyebrows raise in shock, and he smirks before grabbing a rocks glass from the bar top, "Wow, you said <em>please</em>? Can't say no to that, can I?"</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, turning her body away from the bartender, and putting on her best game face before addressing Elena again, "So, who was that mediocre man you were showing Hugo on your phone?" </p><p> </p><p>Elena rolls her eyes, and the blonde can tell she's successfully averted the conversation before a word leaves the other woman's lips, "Ugh. Okay, he's not <em>supes </em>hot, fine, but in Franklin standards, he's a catch!" She whips out her phone, opening the Tinder app, and when Villanelle curls her lip grossly at the image of a muscly, man with a soul patch, Elena orders another round of shots for the two of them because <em>if you think this is bad, just wait till you see the other men I've matched with.</em></p><hr/><p> </p><p>It continues on easily after that. For once, she is grateful for Elena's fondness of.. <em>talking</em>. Sure, the woman is chatty, but she is also funny - and it is a lot easier for Villanelle to distract herself, and maybe even enjoy herself, when she doesn't have to fake her laughter. They spend a good hour going through Elena's tinder messages, and she even lets Villanelle respond to a few of the particularly gross ones. Variations of: <em>you look like someone stuck a mustache on some fudge</em>, and <em>I have a very specific kink about pickling penises, are you interested? </em>Elena finally grabs her phone away, mentioning some concern about getting banned from the app, and their conversation transitions from gross men to <em>whether Gucci really deserves its place as #1 designer in the world when Louis Vuitton clearly makes better use of their material</em>. They talk a lot for two people are talking about absolutely nothing, with Hugo supplying the occasional grunt or quip, but it is easy. Villanelle relishes in it - it is the closest that she gotten to letting go in well over a week, and it is easier to do that with Elena buzzing in her ear, than it is molding her brain into a pretzel, alone, in her hotel room. </p><p> </p><p>It is nearly midnight when Villanelle realizes she is well past the point of tipsy - probably sufficiently drunk, even. Maybe that's why she doesn't try to fight her brain anymore; doesn't try to keep the conversation from circling back to Eve when she asks, "So.. the two of you really just moved here? <em>Willingly</em>? From <em>New York</em>? Why on Earth would you do that?"</p><p> </p><p>Elena and Hugo exchange a sheepish grin - obviously trying to silently communicate about whether or not they should spill a particularly fragile piece of information - when Villanelle interjects again, leaning back in her seat, "Eve told me about Bill."</p><p> </p><p>Elena's jaw drops at the admission, "Eve told you about <em>Bill</em>?" She looks to Hugo who is also sharing in her perplexed expression, "Can't say I expected that. Can't say I expected the two of you to pal around for the last two days either, though."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks an eyebrow, while Elena pauses to sip her beer. </p><p> </p><p>"He must have been a.. good man, for the three of you to move here and take over his bar." Villanelle poses the statement inquisitively, acknowledging that she knows it was a substantial loss, while also acknowledging that she is curious to understand their involvement.</p><p> </p><p>"The best." Elena states, wiping some beer foam from her lip, and Hugo just nods, solemnly, while wiping his hands on a bar rag. "Bill was.. wicked. There was nobody like him. It's hard to explain. You just had to know him." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, in acceptance, "Eve said the same thing."</p><p> </p><p>"Because it's true." Hugo supplies, preoccupying himself with wiping down some of the liquor bottles, and probably doing his best not look as sad as he currently does. </p><p> </p><p>"But.." Elena eyes Hugo, before letting her eyes fall back on Villanelle, "we didn't just move here for Bill. I mean, obviously we <em>did</em>. But we moved here just as much for Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows draw together at that, because if she remembers correctly, Eve didn't ask them to come with her. It seemed like a unanimous decision. She watches as Elena and Hugo exchange shrugs - some movement of the shoulders that Villanelle assumes to mean <em>should we tell her?</em></p><p> </p><p>Hugo nods, and Elena sighs, before leaning her elbow on the bar, and letting her chin rest in her palm. The movement looks a bit clumsy - which only makes sense given the amount of alcohol they have consumed in the last hour alone. "We both knew that if Eve disappeared to Franklin, there was a chance we wouldn't see her again. That woman has a habit of.. retracting into herself, if you know what I mean." Elena lets her eyes drag over Villanelle, as if to say, <em>I think you do</em>, before she adds, "She's a runner."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrow raises at that, and she turns her body in her chair to give Elena her complete attention, letting her forearm rest on the bar, "A <em>runner</em>? So that is why you uprooted your lives," she glances back to Hugo, who is avoiding her eye contact, "to make sure she did not.. <em>run</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Elena chuckles quietly, letting her hand fall away from her chin in favor of drawing her shoulders up, "You've met Eve. She's.. <em>rough </em>around the edges," Villanelle snorts at that, because, <em>yeah, "</em>but she's special. Not the type of person you can afford to lose. That's my bitch, you <em>know</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>No, Villanelle does not know. She does not know because she can not figure it out. Is it not just her then? Maybe Eve really is a succubus of sorts, if she seems to have this effect on Elena.</p><p> </p><p>And Hugo?</p><p> </p><p>When she looks to Hugo, the man stands his ground for a few moments before relenting and finally making eye contact with the blonde. He sighs, dropping his shoulder, before admitting, "Yeah, what she said." He rolls his eyes. "Emphasis on the <em>bitch </em>part."</p><p> </p><p>"Wow. You are both very.. <em>loyal</em>." She recounts them with a look of disbelief, and it's the best she can manage given the swirling thoughts taking place in her head.</p><p> </p><p>She has never known a situation quite like this one. She has been estranged from her family for nearly a decade, and the only person who knows anything about her is her boss. It is hard for her to understand two people uprooting their lives just to support their.. <em>friend</em>? </p><p> </p><p>"And patient." She adds, taking a sip of her gin to calm the spinning of her head. It does not work.  She figures the alcohol is affecting her a little more than she notices, because she goes on to say, "Eve is.. <em>frustrating</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Hugo snorts at that, and Elena just shakes her head, smirking. Looking at Villanelle like she knows something she does not know. It is.. <em>annoying</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"What?" Villanelle asks, and to her dismay, the alcohol softens whatever bite she hoped her tone to carry. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, she really is." Elena cocks an eyebrow, "So why do you hang out with her then?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises two eyebrows at that, because it was not what she was expecting. How is she supposed to explain this to another person, when she can't even explain it to herself?</p><p> </p><p>She draws in a deep inhale, hoping some words will filter in along the way, but when they don't, she tries anyways, "I don't know. She is.." Villanelle bites her lip, contemplating, before finishing with ever-eloquent, "<em>I don't know</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Elena leans her upper body over the bar, resting her weight on one elbow so she can lean in into the blonde's space. Villanelle leans back, instinctively. "You know what's interesting, Vil?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes. Where words surrounding Eve seem to escape her, she has many words to describe the way she feels about this name Elena insists on using. "What? That you keep using that <em>shit </em>nickname for me?" </p><p> </p><p>Elena scoffs, her eyebrows knitting together, "What? You don't like <em>Vil</em>? It's cute!"</p><p> </p><p>"It is really not." Villanelle snorts, unsmiling, "It sounds like a type of houseplant."</p><p> </p><p>Elena pouts, swaying a bit in her chair, "Okay, what about.. <em>Nelle</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's lip curls in disgust, "God, no. That is worse."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I can't just call you Villanelle!"</p><p> </p><p>The blonde's eyes narrow at that, incredulously, "Why not?"</p><p> </p><p>Elena rolls her eyes this time, "God, you are so hot that you are just used to getting everything you want. Villanelle is a mouthful! I can't call you that every time I need to get your attention."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums at the inadvertent flattery, sipping her gin and putting it down before saying, "Okay, well then.. just never need to get my attention. Problem solved." </p><p> </p><p>Elena's jaw drops, and she slams her hand on the bar top. "We are friends, whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole! So what is it then? <em>Nelle</em> or-"</p><p> </p><p>"For fuck's sake, just call me Vil! <em>Fine</em>!" Villanelle relents, eyes wide.</p><p> </p><p>God, what is it about Franklin and only stubborn people deciding to reside here? She is already losing her sanity trying to make one friend, and now Elena is trying to throw herself into the mix. Hugo has stayed eerily silent this whole time, which she is grateful for, because she is juggling more balls than she can handle, for once. </p><p> </p><p>Elena tilts her chin up, victoriously, before tilting it back down in favor of recapturing Villanelle's attention, "As I was saying.. you know what the interesting thing is,<em>Vil</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"What?" The blonde grumbles, slumping into her seat, with crossed arms. She does not like losing, even over as something as simple as nickname. She also does not like what bullshit is about to come out of Elena's mouth - she can feel it. </p><p> </p><p>"It's hard to tell whether you and Eve even like each other. In fact, it seems like you almost hate each other." Elena's eyes take on the seriousness of a detective trying to crack a case, and it is suddenly much easier to picture her as a journalist, traveling the world, and exposing dishonorable corporations. The image loses a bit of its respect when she remembers that serious look in her eyes is in regard to her and Eve's.. <em>friendship</em>? <em>Acquaintanceship</em>? Elena continues, "But the <em>interesting </em>thing is that when I asked you why you even bother to spend time together, you replied saying you don't know."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks an eyebrow at that. She looks to Hugo for further explanation but he just regards with an oblivious shrug, so she returns her attention back to Elena - who looks way too confident when she is making very little sense.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Yes</em>..?" Villanelle offers, confusedly.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Yes</em>!" Elena nods, excitedly, before continuing, "And when I asked Eve why she bothers to spend time with you, she said the same thing. She didn't know."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle waits, but when she realizes that's the end of Elena's sentence, she just mouths an unimpressed <em>Ookay.. </em>before turning to take another sip of her Gin, because, <em>Jesus </em>- she may be drunk, but she still feel like she needs a drink. </p><p> </p><p>Elena scoffs, seemingly disappointed with Villanelle not getting whatever it is she is supposed to be getting from.. <em>that</em>. She throws her head back, groaning, and when she lets it fall back down again, she finally says, "That's <em>fate</em>, love!"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can't help it - her mouths falls open at that. When she looks to Hugo for help, he just offers his hands up with a, "<em>I'm staying out of this one.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>She can not fully comprehend the seriousness of Elena's expression because it is.. maybe, the stupidest thing she has ever heard.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Wow</em>. That is a bold statement to make about two people who have known each other for.." Villanelle takes a moment to glance at the non-existent watch on her wrist, "<em>four </em>days."</p><p> </p><p>"Fate has no such knowledge of time, my darling." Elena relays, chin still tilted-up, and <em>Wow, she is much too pleased with herself. "</em>Plus, that only proves my point. You have only been in Franklin four days and you have seen Eve every one of those days, even though you might want to murder each other! I bet you're planning on seeing her tomorrow too, <em>huh</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrinks in her seat. She does not answer because she does not want to give Elena the satisfaction. She does not deserve it when she is entertaining, quite possibly, the most ludicrous thought process to have ever come into existence. </p><p> </p><p>"I'll take that as a yes." Elena replies, triumphantly, "You're in a mood. <em>Eve</em> is in a mood. There is a pull there. No denying." </p><p> </p><p>"Are you done?" Villanelle asks, with a quirked eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>"Have you accepted your fate?" Elena questions back.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyes narrow, and she downs the last of her drink. "Hard to accept something you don't believe in, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>"People never believe in it until they have to." Elena recounts with a shrug, and she is quick-witted, Villanelle will give her that.</p><p> </p><p>The blonde stands up to gather her coat, and she exhales, annoyedly, when she realizes she is much drunker than she had originally planned to be. Elena's eyes transition from something triumphant to something concerned when she realizes the blonde is leaving, "Vil, I didn't mean to upset you. You don't have to leave."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not upset." Villanelle barks. She shuts her eyes tightly, dismayed at the harshness of her tone and what Elena could draw from that, so she recovers. She lets her lips curl into a small smirk, and lets her tone regain a playful nature before saying, "How could I be at such a <em>stupid </em>thought?"</p><p> </p><p>A slow smiles crawls across Elena's face as she accepts the jest, and she asks, "So you'll stay then?" </p><p> </p><p>"No, I can not." Villanelle replies, sliding her coat onto her shoulders, a little clumsily. "I have a lot of work to do tomorrow."</p><p> </p><p>She leaves out the latter part of that sentence. <em>Because Eve distracted me from getting it done today. </em>She wouldn't dare give Elena the satisfaction. </p><p> </p><p>Elena accepts it, and after the woman triple-checks to make sure Villanelle is able to get home safely, and after she offers an awkward goodbye to Hugo who was subjected to the entire interaction, she finally leaves the bar - feeling very far away from whatever distraction she hoped to gain from the experience. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't sleep much that night.</p><p> </p><p>She lays awake, half-drunk, swirling in her usual concoction of emotions that she seems unable to escape in her <em>shit </em>hotel room. </p><p> </p><p>Confusion, uncertainty, annoyance. </p><p> </p><p>There is a new one, though. One she tries desperately to ignore - but one that claws at her shoulders, and drags her <em>down, down, down </em>until she can't ignore its existence. </p><p> </p><p><em>Stress</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Elena's stupid words bounce around in her head.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That's fate, love! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>So stupid. So stupid, that it's stressful.</p><p> </p><p>She does not sleep much that night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I want to keep the pacing realistic but also want to be realistic about the immediate effect these women have on one another! I appreciate you taking the time to read this chapter! </p><p>also.. I love to think of V and Elena interacting. wish we got to see a glimpse of it even tho it wouldn't make sense in the show cus Elena would probably hit the ground running as soon as V entered the scene. but it's fun to include in this world!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>writer's block continues, but we try to trek through it! less doubt, more typing you know!</p><p>@godyouresexy made the great suggestion of including images of what I envision Carolyn's home to look like! it was hard to find any string of images that fully encapsulated what I was imagining but these seemed to do the best job!</p><p>https://www.designcontract.eu/hospitality/hospitality-design-meets-art-apartment/</p><p>(obvs with more purple, and less white..  but they captured the vibe to a certain extent!)</p><p>eve's apartment is also included this chapter so I tried to find another string of images encapsulating the scheme of that as well.</p><p>http://www.home-designing.com/modern-red-and-grey-interiors-with-japanese-influences</p><p>(obvs way less fancy, lol, but the color schemes are right on for what I was imagining!)</p><p>anyways, I hope this chapter serves as something as indicative of a turning point! having it out (not in the sexy way, you freaks!), unraveling, accepting. I'm feeling really committed to diving deep into V's character and I hope that's coming thru chapter by chapter! while I do have an outline, and a general idea of what things I want to tie together, it really has been hard to shake the creative block/feeling of disjointedness but I will be 100% honest when I say that it doesn't take away from the joy of writing this fic, in the least! it has served as such a cathartic escape for me, and it's meant the world to be able to engage with ya'll in the comments! those of you who have been sticking with this fic really keep me going, and your words of encouragement are SO felt! thank you, one thousand times over! </p><p>xoxo &lt;3</p><p>P.S - there is a line in this chapter where villanelle cackles with a “Ha! Ha Ha!” And I want you to know that I was envisioning the scene in Russia when her step-siblings(?) are trying to tell her the moon landing was fake. Had to relay because that it the exact laugh I want you to envision, lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle wonders if setting Carolyn's house on fire would warrant her getting fired. </p><p> </p><p>Would getting fired be so bad? She could easily find another job with her resume. She's worked for Konstantin for five years - maybe it's time for a change. It wouldn't be <em>so</em> bad. But she probably would not be able to find another job if she was arrested and charged with arson. </p><p> </p><p>She could make it look like an accident? A blown fuse in the electrical wiring? </p><p> </p><p>Too much work, she decides.</p><p> </p><p>She groans, letting her head fall back against the arm rest of the couch, and shielding her eyes from the brightness of the laptop screen that is plopped atop her midsection.</p><p> </p><p>She isn't sure if she can recall a time where she's been so unmotivated to work. There was that one time after she pulled an all-nighter in Berlin, and showed up to her current project still coming down from Molly - but that was a one-off. She actually got a lot done that day.</p><p> </p><p>Other than that, nothing else comes to mind.</p><p> </p><p>Her brain maintains a very persistent itch - one that she can not seem to scratch. Two iced lattes later, and she feels no different. Still lethargic, but her heart is just beating a little faster. She tried doing some push-ups but her muscles strained under the weight of her fatigued body. She tried eating a chocolate muffin from the cafe - hoping the sugar would, at least, allow for a quick burst of energy - but she only feels worse. </p><p> </p><p>She can not remember the last time she was hungover. It is a <em>very</em> rare occasion. When she drinks heavily, she always maintains a precise routine - one that involves water before bed, a full eight hours, and honey sausages in the morning. But she did not have time to do any of these. She did not have time because she spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, shoving her face into her pillow, and using every bit of her energy to not pull her hair out. Sleep came to her in small, infrequent increments; that is why she assumes her usually-resilient body succumbed to the alcohol she had consumed the night prior. Her body didn't have the chance to sleep any of it off. </p><p> </p><p>She <em>could</em> take the day off. She has complete freedom to do so, but she prefers saving her time off for days when she can actually enjoy them. Something she would not be able to do given the complete lack of work she had got done the day before. Because of Eve. And now, she is still not doing any work - <em>also</em> because of Eve. </p><p> </p><p>She's pissed off at the older woman. She has already typed out, and erased, three separate messages in attempts to cancel their plans tonight. She couldn't find the right way to word it, but she will figure it out before evening comes. She can't fathom seeing her - can't fathom the oblivious nature of Eve's eyes when she asks Villanelle why she looks like shit; can't fathom Eve looking beautiful and spry after a full night's rest, when Villanelle got no such thing. She can't fathom the idea of pursuing a friendship with Eve, when the older woman is seemingly ruining her life after five days of knowing one another. If that is what friendship is, she does not want it. </p><p> </p><p><em>Sure</em> - maybe she's being overdramatic. Maybe it is not totally Eve's fault that Villanelle spent the entire night analyzing the older woman's nature with a fine tooth comb, and maybe it's not Eve's fault that the younger woman could not sleep because she could not wrap her mind around Eve's desire to be friends with her, in the first place. Maybe it's not totally Eve's fault, but it mostly is. It is the path of least resistance - one that she can afford to entertain, because her brain is too tired, too overwhelmed, to entertain a different thought process. In fact, her brain is too tired to entertain this thought process, so she swears it off. She turns it off, like one would turn off a television rerun that they don't feel like rewatching. </p><p> </p><p>She hoists herself off the couch, mustering whatever motivation she can, in an attempt to busy herself. It starts with the lamp and the coffee table. She rearranges them into five different positions in the living room - which is impressive, because there is really only so much you can do with a lamp and a coffee table. It is even more impressive because she will just have to move them again when the rug arrives in a few days. But this gives her hands something to do, and if that's all she can manage to feel useful, she will do that.</p><p> </p><p>The act serves to encourage her motivation, if only slightly, and she collapses back on the couch and starts perusing TV Stands yet again. She considers buying the African Blackwood one Eve pointed out - because it's actually a perfect match with the dark wood of the coffee table, but she can't bring herself to purchase it. She can not give Eve the satisfaction. So, she scrolls through four other warehouse inventories. She looks through every TV Stand currently in stock in the upper East coast, before she clicks back to the website she originally started on.</p><p> </p><p>She buys the African Blackwood stand.</p><p> </p><p>Things start to flow a little bit easier from there. She is able to focus her energy into scouring the web for the more pertinent pieces, like a bookshelf. Carolyn is always very adamant about having a large, and gorgeous, bookshelf. It confused Villanelle at first - most people prefer their points of fixation to be sitting furniture or art. When the blonde finally saw Carolyn's vast collection of literature, she assumed it only made sense given the British woman's asocial nature and general distaste for anything that moves. It also made sense that she wanted to showcase them, given her air of narcissism. It is an important piece, and if she isn't going to get much else done this afternoon, she might as well dedicate her remaining hours scouring the web for the perfect one. She wants it to be the best one yet - partly to impress Carolyn, but partly to have something to devote her energy to.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a couple hours, but she stumbles upon a beautiful vintage Irving bookcase. It is darker than the other wood pieces, but that is an added bonus. When she was sitting with Eve on the couch the day before, she noticed that the darkness of Eve's hair was actually a nice contrast against the pale purple walls. It is a nice contrast, and Carolyn will feel some comfort seeing a usual, darker shade in the otherwise light living room. Two birds, one stone. When she looks at the location of the antique store that has it in its possession, she is surprised to see they are located in a town called Bolton, Pennsylvania. <em>Three</em> birds, one stone.</p><p> </p><p>She types it into Google Maps and sees its roughly a 2 hr 38 minute drive from Franklin. She usually doesn't go out of her way to pick things up, when she can just have them delivered, but it's always a riskier gamble with secondhand antique stores. She prefers to see the pieces in person, before committing. <em>Hm</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She calls the number under the listing. It rings a few times before a voice of an older gentleman comes through, "Hello. Blackwell Antiques. This is Paul speaking, how can I help you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Paul." Villanelle greets him, neutrally, wasting no time before getting to business, "I'm looking at the Irving Bookcase you have listed. This is in inventory at your store in Bolton, yes?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, the Irving. Beautiful piece. I was lucky to get my hands on it." He chuckles a bit, quietly, before continuing, "Yes, we're located in Bolton. Right near the Ski Resort."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, I have no idea about that." She relays, "I am only visiting Franklin. I did not see an option for delivery on your site."</p><p> </p><p>"I figured, from your accent! What is that? German?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Russian</em>. So, you do not deliver?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I'm afraid not. We do deliveries through third-party services, but none on our own accord." </p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Villanelle considers this. She opens Google Maps on her computer and pulls up the antique store. It appears on a map right next to the aforementioned Ski Resort, and for whatever reasons, that spurs an idea in the blonde's head.</p><p> </p><p>She has never cared much for skiing, or anything snow-related. It only served to remind her of the shitty, arctic climate of Russia in the winter. What she <em>does </em>care for are resorts, in the mountains. Maybe it is just the thing she needs - a night out of town, a night to clear her head from anything Eve-related. Maybe it is a bit frowned-upon to take a vacation less than a week into a new work project, but it will only be for one night. Maybe she just needs to distance herself from Franklin, from the stress that has tied to her to the small town, and she will come back anew. In the end, she would be doing a favor for Carolyn's home by undergoing a mental reset.</p><p> </p><p>"I would like to come see it this weekend." Villanelle states, "Can you hold it until then?" </p><p> </p><p>"We usually don't hold." He says, "We tend to operate on a first-come, first-serve basis."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes. She lets her eyes flicker over the photo on the computer. The bookcase looks like its in immaculate condition - there is not so much as a scratch, from what she can see in the photos. She <em>really</em> does not like buying secondhand before seeing for herself, but if it does not hold up in person, she can always intimidate this Paul man into giving her a refund. It would not be the first time.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay</em>, I would like to buy it then. Right now." She offers, begrudgingly, "I will come gather it this weekend."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh. Alright, then. That's wonderful. Thank you!" He says, and she can hear the rustling of papers in the background, "I'm just going to need your card number."</p><p> </p><p>"Sure."</p><p> </p><p>By the time they get off the phone, Villanelle is satisfied enough for the work she's put in for the day. She lays back on the couch, and as soon as her body registers its in a horizontal position, she begins to lose whatever fight she was putting up to stay conscious. She falls asleep, with spread like a starfish across the tufted couch, with her laptop still on her midsection.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When she wakes up, the room is dark. She rubs her eyes before clicking her laptop to life, and reading the time. <em>8:58 P.M.</em> She sighs with the relief.</p><p> </p><p>She would not have been surprised if it was <em>2:00 A.M</em>. Her body feels.. completely refreshed. Whatever groggy lethargy was biting at her eyelids, and holding onto her ankles, has completely dissipated. Her body is a thing of resilience, and while she's not shocked that all it took was a cat nap to set her straight, she is grateful. <em>Because</em> her body is a thing of resilience, she maintains a hyper-awareness when it feels off-kilter, edgy, <em>useless, </em>and she's not sure she would have made it through the rest of the night if that feeling were maintained. So, she is relieved.</p><p> </p><p>She is also relieved that she did not sleep through her plans with Eve. While she went to sleep still pissed-off, irate with the woman's existence - she has woken up with the same desire that she has been harboring the last few days. To see Eve.</p><p> </p><p>The feeling of stress serves like a bouncing ball in her body - she is aware of its existence in the corner of the room, but it is currently immobile, waiting to be picked up and thrown around to disturb the peace. When it is still, she allows herself the opportunity to implore her curiosity; her desire. When it moves, she allows herself to react in whatever way she deems fit, in the moment. But that moment is not happening, right now.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle knows she is not one to often consider her future, and she holds a firm veil over her past, so it leaves her to only contemplate her present moment. Presently, she would like to see Eve. So, she will. </p><p> </p><p>If there are consequences, fine. She will deal with them when they come. If the consequences become too much to deal with, she will leave. There are always options - they are just easier to remember when she is in her conscious mind, and not in a half-asleep, hungover state. </p><p> </p><p>She sits up, stretching her shoulders as she does, before grabbing her phone off the coffee table. She opens it to a series of notifications: a text from Kenny asking about whether she knows if Audrey likes chocolate, a text from Konstantin letting her know Irina has been asking about her, a text from Elena that contains a photo of Taylor Swift wearing a halter backwards with a '<em>omfg somebody dethrone her already</em>!', and two texts from Eve. </p><p> </p><p>She skips over every single in favor of opening the two texts from the older woman:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>Heard you succumbed to Elena last night after all. Do you still have energy for tonight? I would understand if the answer is no.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>I was thinking you could come to my place instead? Figured it might be a nice change of place from your hotel. Also, I'm hungry. Does that cooking offer still stand? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle smiles at that. Hm, only Eve could be simultaneously thoughtful and demanding. Thoughtful in considering that Villanelle has been holed up in the same room since arriving in Franklin, and demanding in the way that she is inviting her to be a guest in her home, and feed her in the process.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle does not mind though. She likes cooking. The thought of providing for Eve does not necessarily bother her. </p><p> </p><p>She texts back:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That sounds nice. Room service is starting to wear on me 😞 I am going to assume you have no ingredients in your home, so I will pick some up along the way.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span></em> <em>Hey!</em></p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span></em> <em>I have.. some ingredients. </em></p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span></em> <em>Fine. You should probably pick some up. I'll give you cash when you get here.</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes at that, finally standing up to gather her stuff, as she shoots a text back:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don't be stupid, Eve. I am rich, remember?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <span class="emoji">🍎: 🙄</span></em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle drops her stuff off at the hotel. She takes a moment to refresh her appearance - brushing her teeth, fluffing her hair, and changing into a mustard yellow tie-neck coat before heading out back out. She has much more spring in her step by the time she stops at the grocery store, on her way to Eve's.</p><p> </p><p>She knew what she wanted to make the older woman as soon as the prospect of dinner was mentioned. <em>Coq au Vin</em>. A simple, French classic. She texted Eve to make sure she the older woman had a Dutch oven, and when Eve responded with a <em>God, Villanelle I'm not totally incapable, </em>she stops at the grocery store with a relatively short list. If Eve has a Dutch Oven, Villanelle trusts that she has basic spices. She sticks to the key ingredients - chicken, bacon, broth, red wine, onions, mushrooms, and tomato paste. She's in and out, in a matter of time - given her sudden burst of energy, and her fully in-tact appetite.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She opens the door to the near-empty bar, and quickly tries to trek through the establishment without being noticed by Elena or Malfoy, but she slows her gate when she realizes she does not exactly know how to get up to Eve's apartment. Elena catches her eye from across the bar, and the blonde watches as a slow, knowing smirk crawls across the woman's face as her eyes travel from Villanelle to the grocery bag in her hand. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle returns her gaze with a scowl, "Shut up."</p><p> </p><p>Elena crosses her arms, and her smirk remains, "I didn't say anything, V."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>V</em>?" The blonde quirks an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>"Well, you don't like Vil. And you <em>hate</em> Nelle. I tried to think up a new one after you left but I was a little too tipsy to get creative. So, V. Better?" </p><p> </p><p>"Much." Villanelle replies, impassively, before holding up her grocery bag. "Care to make yourself useful and tell me how I can get up to her apartment?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle avoids saying Eve's name - as if not naming the woman will lesson whatever joy Elena is so clearly getting out of this. It doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>"Up the stairs, like you're going to the roof." Elena gestures at the double-doors, behind the bar. "It's the door on the left. Have fun up there," she adds with a wink.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just grunts in response, before pushing her way through the doors and up the stairs. The door opens to a small, red hallway - the carpet is old, stained and reminiscent of a 70s' hotel where swingers would hang out - and there are two doors facing one another. </p><p> </p><p>She knocks on the door on the left, per Elena's instruction. A couple moments pass before she hears some scurrying coming from inside the apartment, and then the door swings open to reveal a somewhat-flustered looking Eve. Her hair is down, her curls holding more buoyancy today as they hang around her face, and she's dressed casually - in a grey tank, top and some trousers. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows at the sight. It's not an.. <em>evocative</em> outfit, by any standards. But she has gotten so used to seeing Eve covered up - in turtlenecks, or button ups, or big coats - that the sight of her bare shoulders and arms elicit a potent reaction from the blonde. The expanse of Eve's bare skin feels like something she is being gifted - like something behind museum walls; an experience that only certain people are allowed, like.. <em>forbidden fruit</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle clears her throat, before quirking an eyebrow at the older woman, "Are you going to invite me in?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh, yeah," Eve runs a hand through her hair, which is really doing nothing to help Villanelle's prepubescent reaction to her, before stepping aside, "Sorry."</p><p> </p><p>The younger woman chuckles quietly, before stepping into the apartment, but the sound trails off as she takes in the atmosphere. The walls are grey, except for a red accent wall, and the furniture is reminiscent of the bar downstairs - but more.. <em>homey</em>. The couch is a worn black-leather Chesterfield sofa, and it's complimented by two red velvet accent chairs. The red circle carpet underneath the sitting pieces should <em>really</em> overpower - red is a color that should be used as an accent, rather than a central piece - but it is offset by by the black glass coffee table, which manages to tie the scene together perfectly. Even the lighting is red - and when Villanelle inspects closer, she can see there is an illumination bar installed across the upper wall.</p><p> </p><p>It is.. <em>sexy</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The light catches the glint of something on the coffee table, and Villanelle's eyes fall on red, ceramic apple she had given Eve a couple days ago.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyebrows knit together in absolute confusion, because while she has come to understand Eve is unpredictable - she certainly did not expect this. She turns around with a small smile, "I am impressed, Eve. This reminds me of a sex dungeon I visited in Berlin one time." </p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks an eyebrow, and Villanelle explains further, "I mean that as a compliment. It was a very nice sex dungeon."</p><p> </p><p>The older woman chuckles, letting her hands fall on her hips, "Well, that would make sense. Bill spent a lot of time in Berlin. In sex dungeons, most likely."</p><p> </p><p>"Bill?" Villanelle murmurs, confusedly, before realization sets in. She takes another step towards Eve, "This was.. <em>Bill's </em>apartment?"</p><p> </p><p>Wow, not only did Eve uproot her life to take over her dead best friend's bar - she is living in his apartment, too. The older woman is far beyond being in grieving - <em>no</em>, she is relishing in it. The realization sobers Villanelle, and she hopes it doesn't show on her face.</p><p> </p><p>It must, because Eve is quick to interject to counter whatever thought process Villanelle is currently forming, "No, it's not as.. <em>fucked up</em>, as it sounds." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks an eyebrow, because it sounds <em>pretty</em> fucked up.</p><p> </p><p>"He left the apartment to me, in his will." Eve provides, exhaling. "He paid off the mortgage before he died. It's easier to run the bar if I don't have to worry about rent."</p><p> </p><p>"Ah." Villanelle nods, understanding a little better. "Does it make you sad living here?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve blows a raspberry, letting her hands fall away from her hips, "No. I actually.. like it. It makes me feel closer to him." Villanelle's eyebrow stays quirked, "<em>Okay</em>, so maybe it as fucked-up as it sounds." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip. Yes<em>, it is</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But it is nothing she can not understand, so she hums before replying, "Bill had very good taste. I do not blame you for wanting to live here."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Eve chuckles quietly, letting her eyes bounce around the room, "yes, he did."</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The blonde basically has to force Eve to stay seated. The older woman offers to help, initially, but while Eve wants to be of service, she has no idea how to be. Villanelle is hungry, having only ate a muffin today, and she would like to eat as soon as possible; it not something she is willing to delay in the event Eve accidentally cuts off the tip of a finger while she's chopping onions. </p><p> </p><p>Eve finally stills, pouring herself a glass of red wine, and sitting criss-cross on one of the dining chairs. She offers Villanelle a glass, to which replies with <em>sure, just a small one, please,</em> because while she is now hangover-free, alcohol still feels like a friend she needs space from. But she welcomes the small glass as a way to cling to comfort. She feels a little on edge in Eve's apartment. She wants to be there, to get a better understanding of the older woman, and while the stress ball has yet to begin bouncing - it tingles with an antsy energy. </p><p> </p><p>She removes the meat from the slow cooker, placing it on a paper-towel lined plate, and adds the veggies to pot. While she lets them simmer, she allows herself a moment to take in the kitchen. It is a similar color scheme to the living room - black glass dining room table, with red Charleton chairs, a red counter top, with a black and white tiled floor. She prefers more color in her spaces, but she can appreciate primaries and neutrals when they are done right, and the shock of this <em>Bill </em>pulling it all together never fully leaves her. The man messed up being a bar-owner, he clearly had an eye for interior design. <em>What a waste</em>. </p><p> </p><p>The veggies simmer until they're fragrant, and Eve pauses her frantic wine-sipping to comment on how good it smells. Villanelle has to fight an eye roll, but she doesn't attempt to fight the smile. They are just vegetables - but something about providing for Eve makes her feel.. <em>nice</em>. Good, even, so she tucks away whatever jab was bubbling in her throat.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle opens a drawer, in search for a large wooden spoon to mix in the tomato paste, which she finds - but she pauses when she also finds Eve's phone in the drawer. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle tilts her head, plucking it out of the drawer, and holding it up before looking to Eve.</p><p> </p><p>The older woman's mouth opens a bit at that, and she looks she's trying to come up with an excuse, but her shoulders just deflate as she sits back in the chair. "I must have thrown that in there when I was.. cleaning." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, setting the phone on the dining table in front of Eve, before returning to the pot. "Ah, so that is why you looked so.. <em>frazzled </em>when you opened the door. You attempted to clean your entire apartment right before I came over, didn't you?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve averts her eyes; she suddenly becomes very invested in taking a large sip of wine.</p><p> </p><p>"I knew it. I knew you were not this clean." Villanelle tuts, as she stirs the tomato paste into the veggies. </p><p> </p><p>Eve releases a quick bark of laughter, "What is <em>that </em>supposed to mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is not an insult, Eve. I just mean that you are a bit chaotic." Eve's mouth falls agape at that, and Villanelle shrugs her shoulder. "It is not a bad thing."</p><p> </p><p>"Me?" Eve questions, incredulously, "<em>I'm </em>chaotic?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle replies, simply, as she pours some broth and red wine into the pot. She glances at Eve from her periphery, and the older woman is still floundering. It really should not be flattering - but something about it looks cute on Eve. Like a very cute.. <em>fish</em> that is waiting to be thrown back into the pond. </p><p> </p><p>Eve sets her wine down on the table, eyes still wide, before she proclaims, "<em>You're </em>chaotic!"</p><p> </p><p>"Also, yes." Villanelle replies, indifferent, as she returns the chicken and bacon to the pot to cook with the vegetables. She covers it with a lid, before turning around to face Eve, leaning against the counter. "We are both chaotic. Just in different ways."</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks taken aback at Villanelle's lack of pushback. Pushback is fun - especially with Eve. Eve may be her new favorite person to push back against, maybe even more so than Konstantin, but there is no need to push back when the matter is very simple. </p><p> </p><p>There is nothing to argue. It is just another way in which they are similar.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's expression relaxes after Villanelle offers no other insight. She just hums into her wine glass. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"God, this is.." Eve mutters around a bite of chicken, her eyes crinkling with pleasure, "<em>fucking </em>good."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, a small smile gracing her lips as she takes another bite, because it is good. It is also very simple. She could have made something much more extravagant for Eve - but she had a feeling the older woman would find something as simple as <em>Coq Au Vin </em>to her liking. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Seriously</em>." She moans, pulling the fork away from her mouth, "God. Is there anything you can't do?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks an eyebrow, letting the fork hover in front of her mouth, but Eve rolls her eyes, silencing her, "Actually, don't answer that."</p><p> </p><p>The blonde complies, taking another bite instead of opening her mouth to reply with a suggestive, <em>I don't know, would you like to see? </em>or a truthful, <em>No, not really.</em></p><p> </p><p>"Why do you not like to cook?" Villanelle asks around her bite of food, swallowing it, before leaning back to observe Eve over her wine glass. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't know. I mean, I can cook, <em>obviously</em>. I am nearly forty." Eve pauses to spear some bacon onto her fork, chewing as she considers, "But I think I just fell out of touch with it. When I was a journalist, I was too busy. It was always easier to just grab something. Plus, Niko was always the one in the kitchen so I guess I was a little spoiled."</p><p> </p><p>"Was he a good cook?" Villanelle asks, curiously. She tries to imagine Eve in a domestic setting - kissing her husband when he offers her a plate of food, or setting the table, but it is hard. Eve does not seem like the domestic type. </p><p> </p><p>"Uh, I guess? I ate a <em>lot </em>of shepherds pie for thirteen years." Eve chuckles, setting her fork down, and leaning back in her chair with her wine glass. Villanelle curls her lip at that, distastefully, which Eve nods at, "I know, but I burnt one too many anniversary dinners before I was exiled from the kitchen." </p><p> </p><p><em>Hm</em>, if Eve's expression is anything to go by, she does not even like shepherds pie that much, yet she ate it for thirteen years. A mundane fact shouldn't be so compelling to Villanelle, but it is indicative of something much bigger. It could have been act of love - stomaching her ex-husband's shitty potatoes - but Villanelle is starting to think that Eve is the type to.. settle. <em>Adapt</em>. Get to used to things if she is not challenged to do otherwise. </p><p> </p><p>This is one way in which they are very different.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can not even fathom the concept of devoting her time to something she can't enjoy fully. Even with something as simple as food, she wants to experience it - savor every bite. But Eve seems to be view food as something more like.. <em>fuel</em>? A necessity, something she has to indulge in to get her through her day. Villanelle wonders how many aspects of life this translates to, for the older woman. Eve was married for thirteen years - when she didn't even want to be married in the first place, but she settled. She didn't take action until something as serious as her best friend dying. It is very difficult for Villanelle to consider. Even now, the older woman just sitting in front of her at a dinner table, Eve radiates an energy that seems uncontainable.</p><p> </p><p>When Villanelle thinks about that energy being contained, she feels the dull stab in her stomach. It catches her so off-guard that she moves her hand to cover the pain.</p><p> </p><p>Eve eyes, a subtle concern crinkling around her eyes, "Are you okay?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle blinks, "Yes." She lets her hand fall away, inhaling in attempt to reground herself before asking, "What is your favorite food then?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve eyebrows raise, obviously still-curious about the blonde's momentary lapse,"Dumplings. I used to make them with my auntie growing up." She offers a small smile over her wine glass,  "They are one of the few things I can still cook. I'll make them for you, some time."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, "I would like that."</p><p> </p><p>"Did you cook a lot? Growing up?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle narrows her eyes a bit, when she notices the faux-innocent nature of Eve's expression. <em>Ah</em>, that was a good one. Eve has gotten better at her turn-arounds; asking seemingly inadvertent questions in an attempt to learn more about the parts that Villanelle tries to keep out of the conversation. </p><p> </p><p>The blonde crosses her arms over her chest, "Sure. Mostly mushy foods, though. <em>Kashka</em>. <em>Borscht</em>." She relays with a shrug of her shoulders, but Eve looks confused - obviously lacking knowledge in Russian cuisine, so she supplies, "Soups. Porridges. Things with.. shit texture, and shittier taste."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh," Eve replies, her brows furrowed, "Is that.. common in Russian cuisine? Mushy foods?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs, making no move to uncross her arms, "Sure. If you are dirt poor."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows unknit at that, and her mouth forms a surprised <em>Oh. </em>Villanelle can feel her surprise from here. </p><p> </p><p>"What? You thought I was born into money?" She asks, with a cold laugh. </p><p> </p><p>"No, it's just. You seem so.." Eve trails off, but she doesn't avert her gaze. Their eyes are still locked, and Villanelle can see the older woman is trying to choose her word, carefully. It annoys her very much when Eve cherry-picks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Cocky?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Arrogant?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Confident."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts at that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Smart girl, Eve.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>That is because I am." Villanelle uncrosses her arms, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table before continuing, "I have worked for what I have."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes at that, and Villanelle frowns, "Oh, please don't tell me you're about to start with that <em>Pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps </em>shit-"</p><p> </p><p>"I am not. So do not start with the <em>I-am-Eve-who-knows-all</em> shit." Villanelle purses her lips, and Eve's eyes widen at the interruption, but the blonde continues, "Not everybody has the same opportunities. I am not.. <em>disillusioned</em>, Eve. But it does not negate the fact that I worked to get that opportunity. Do not put words in my mouth." </p><p> </p><p>It is a pointed assertion, and Eve's widened eyes change from a vexed shock to a surprised one. Villanelle wish it didn't annoy her further - because she really does not feel like arguing, right now - but it does. Why does the older woman even bother asking her <em>shit </em>questions if she's just going to make her own assumptions?</p><p> </p><p>Eve holds her hands up in surrender, offering a genuine, "I'm sorry, okay? You're.. right. I was being an ass." Villanelle eyes her carefully, looking for any falsehood in the apology, but when she doesn't find it - she accepts it, for now. But Eve has been walking on thin ice, and the cracks are starting to form. She will not be able to handle many more of Eve's.. <em>antics</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, exasperatedly, before leaning back in her chair. Eve was being an ass, but some part of her feels a little.. <em>guilty</em>. Is that it? Eve words from the previous day echo in her brain.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm just trying to get to know you, Villanelle.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve is not graceful in her execution, but Villanelle knows that older woman is attempting.. in her own, little fucked-up way. She is not a merciful person, so she will not reward Eve for being a <em>shit, </em>but she can give Eve the bare minimum of what she wants to know. Little by little - enough to satiate their situation until the next blow-up happens, as it seems inevitable at this point - but Villanelle really did just want to have a nice dinner tonight. To see Eve's apartment. To understand her better. </p><p> </p><p>She blows some air from her cheeks, before relenting, "I cooked a lot for my family when I was younger." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows raise at the admittance, and Villanelle can see the gratitude in Eve's ghost of a smile. The older woman takes a moment before responding - an attempt at tact, Villanelle assumes - and she asks, "Was your mom.. around?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle throws her head back, letting out another shrill cackle. "<em>Ha</em>! <em>Ha Ha</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes widen at the sound, and she can tell the older woman if wondering if she overstepped. She knows there's no way for Eve to know how funny the question is. God, yes, her mom was very much around, <em>too much </em>around - she spends a lot of time thinking about how much better her life would have been if she were not <em>so</em> much around.</p><p> </p><p>But Eve obviously has no way of knowing this, so she shakes her head, still grinning, before replying, "Yes, she was <em>around</em>, Eve. She just.. could not always be bothered." Villanelle offers with a raise of her shoulders, non-chalant and non-revealing.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh." Eve offers, and her eyes shimmer with something.. <em>heavy</em>. It's not pity - Villanelle knows it when she sees it, but something akin to understanding, or wanting to understand.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rubs her hands against her thighs, leaning forward, "Can I ask <em>you </em>something, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods softly, readjusting to rest her forearms on the table. Villanelle's eyes trail to Eve upper body  with the movements - the subtle flex of her upper arms, and the delicate slope of her shoulders. It is a beautiful movement. Very simple. She could watch it many times over.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle licks her lips, letting her eyes trail back to Eve's, "Can I ask you two things actually?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure." </p><p> </p><p>"Why do you wear such ill-fitting clothing? You have a very nice body."</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws, and there is a slight blush that spreads across her cheeks with the sound, "What's wrong with the way I dress?"</p><p> </p><p>"So many turtlenecks." Villanelle tuts, relishing in the pink tint on Eve's cheekbones, "Such a shame to hide those shoulders." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's lips part slightly, and she shakes her head in bewilderment. Villanelle notices the way her fingers grip around her wine stem.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, asshole. Next question."</p><p> </p><p>"You did not answer my first."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Next </em>question."</p><p> </p><p>"Fine," the blonde sighs, straightening her shoulders, and looking at Eve head-on, "Why did you ask me to come here instead of you coming to my hotel?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks an eyebrow, obviously amused at the contrast in questions, before replying, slowly, "Oh, I can make sure we don't watch <em>13 Going On 30 </em>here."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's expression is serious, and Villanelle laughs, raising her eyebrows, "Is that really why?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Eve supplies, shrugging her shoulders, "And I thought it might be nice change of scenery, for you."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, so you can be thoughtful." Villanelle chides and Eve rolls her eyes, as she stands up to collect their plates. Villanelle watches, as she tries to hide the subtle disappointment under her skin that tingles at the thought of the night ending sooner than she would like, "So we are not going to watch a movie?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, we're watching a movie." Eve replies, setting the dishes in the sink, and now Villanelle has to hide her relief. "But I get to choose."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Great</em>." Villanelle replies, sardonically, "Let me guess. <em>Old Yeller</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"Why the <em>hell </em>would I put on <em>Old Yeller</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>"I don't know, Eve. You seem to hate fun."</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't reply. She just throws a dish cloth at the blonde's face.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll do the dishes since you cooked." She relays, turning on the water, "You can sit there and tell me about all the fun you had with Elena."</p><p> </p><p>"God," Villanelle groans, letting her chin collapse into her palm, "She is <em>annoying</em>, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs at that, "Hey, I never said she wasn't."</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They are curled on Eve's couch - Eve, sat criss-cross, with a blanket over her lap, and Villanelle, blanket-less, with her legs kicked up on the coffee table. They're both cradling mugs of Peppermint Tea, now half-full, as they are halfway through <em>The Breakfast Club</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It was not Eve's first choice. They were scrolling through a streaming service and it caught Villanelle's eye, but when she asked about it and Eve replied with a <em>you haven't seen Breakfast Club?!, </em>she seemed to make a decision - more out of obligation, than desire. </p><p> </p><p>Eve is a quiet movie-watcher, supplying the occasional laugh or grunt, which is fine, but Villanelle is not. She provides a constant monologue of <em>they could easily sneak out, they just aren't trying hard enough</em>, and <em>this is unrealistic, Claire would not be this popular in real life</em>. Eve does not seem to mind much - she laughs at nearly all of Villanelle's jokes, and counters her statements when she disagrees. So, she continues.</p><p> </p><p>They're at the scene where the teens are sat in a circle in the library, confessing their fears and insecurities to one another, when Villanelle pipes up again, "This.. <em>Bender </em>is a real asshole."</p><p> </p><p>Eve hums, contemplatively, before replying, "<em>Or </em>he just doesn't know how to talk about his baggage."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow, tearing her eyes away from the screen in favor of glancing at the older woman from her periphery. </p><p> </p><p>"They are not mutually exclusive, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"No," Eve shrugs, meeting Villanelle's eye contact, "they're not."</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the blonde gets the feeling they're not talking about the leather-clad little shit in the movie. But she is unsure whether Eve is talking about her, or herself - or maybe, the both of them. She doesn't get the chance to prod when Eve asks, "How have you seen <em>Old Yeller </em>but not <em>The Breakfast Club</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"I did not watch a lot of movies growing up." Villanelle replies, impassively, turning her attention back to the television, but she feels Eve's eyes tracing her face. She rolls her eyes, before supplying, "Before you ask, <em>yes </em>- because we were poor. Now, shut up, Eve, you are talking over the climax." </p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs, "You're chastising <em>me </em>for talking?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>She can feel Eve's eye roll without seeing it, but the older woman returns her gaze back to the television. Villanelle is mostly quietly after that. She chimes in for the important stuff - she regards the scene of Andrew kissing Allison with a <em>Oh come on! He only likes her because she got a makeover</em>, and when Bender kisses Claire, she just shakes her head with a <em>Please, that would never work</em>. </p><p> </p><p>When the credits finally roll, Villanelle turns to Eve with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, "That was very unrealistic, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve snorts, leaning forward to set her tea mug on the table, before facing Villanelle. She adjusts the blanket around her legs before saying, "Yeah, well. It's a movie. I didn't know you cared so much about.. <em>realism</em>. You were the one who wanted to watch <em>13 Going On 30."</em></p><p> </p><p><em>"Hey!</em> <em>13 Going On 30 </em>holds many valuable lessons."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, yeah? Name one."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle tilts her chin up, "To always stay true to yourself."</p><p> </p><p>Eve snorts at that, "<em>Wow</em>. I have to say that I'm impressed that you managed to get that out of a subpar romcom," Villanelle interjects with a scoff, "but you're failing to gather any lesson from what we just watched."</p><p> </p><p>The blonde quirks a brow, "And what lesson is <em>that</em>, Eve? If you dress better, the jock just might kiss you?"</p><p> </p><p>"No." Eve sighs, leaning back against the armrest, "That we can.. relate, even to the people we feel most different from. <em>Connect</em>, or whatever.."</p><p> </p><p>She concludes with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>As Eve offers up the word, it draws a silent breath from Villanelle's lips. </p><p> </p><p>Connect? Is that what her and Eve are doing? </p><p> </p><p>Connection is something you have to put work into. You have to make conscious strides to allow for a connection to happen. Her situation with Eve feels more.. uncontrollable, than that. That even if Villanelle were to walk away, sever her connection from Eve, she would never truly be free from.. whatever the hell this is.</p><p> </p><p>It feels less like a connection, and a lot more like a <em>collision</em>, Villanelle thinks. Two trains heading straight towards one another, but there's no conductor there to pull the lever. </p><p> </p><p>Eve asks another question, and it pulls Villanelle out of her daze - only slightly, "Why do you even like rom-coms? It seems.. out of character."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, the shock of juxtaposition in Eve's questioning not doing enough to slice through her daze, so she replies, quietly, "It is easier to escape into something.. silly. Senseless." </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It is easier to watch something really shitty than something that might force me to think about my shit life. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle eyebrows knit together as she becomes conscious of her thought process. She likes her life. Loves it. She is very happy. Sure, the first part of it was shit - but now she's in the second part, and she's happy. <em>Right</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods in understanding, "I get that." </p><p> </p><p>And Villanelle doesn't know exactly what it is - the movie about friendship, Eve talking about connection, or just the string of her patience finally breaking, bit by bit, - that spurs her to ask her next question, "Why do you want to be friends with me, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws, but the sound dies in her throat when she meets Villanelle's eyes, feels the weighty reach of them, "I.. don't know."</p><p> </p><p>Mm, she expected that. </p><p> </p><p>She expected that without the confirmation of Elena's admittance. She expected that without even having to ask, because while the weight of confusion followed her to sleep every night, she had a feeling that it followed Eve too. Something in her gut.</p><p> </p><p>She expected that, but that doesn't mean she accepts it.</p><p> </p><p>"There are some things you <em>do </em>know, otherwise you would not be sitting here with me. On this couch. In your home." Villanelle replies, seriously, and if her tone sounds a little.. <em>probing</em>, that is fine. She is tired of playing their little game when she keeps losing, anyways. "So, what do you know, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve blows air out of her cheeks. She runs a hand through her hair, before sitting up, and straightening her shoulders, so that she is facing Villanelle more directly. The blonde adjusts her position, so that she is facing Eve, with one hand thrown over the back frame over the couch.</p><p> </p><p>She bites her lip, raises her eyebrow, and she waits. </p><p> </p><p>"I know.. that you're an asshole."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts, her eyes searching Eve's face as the tension slowly starts to fall away from it, "What else?"</p><p> </p><p>"I know that.. my life has felt very.. <em>different </em>since you came to Franklin."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, releasing her lip from her teeth, "What else?"</p><p> </p><p>"I know that, as different as we are, I feel like you might be the only person who can actually understand me."</p><p> </p><p>"What else?"</p><p> </p><p>She watches, carefully, as whatever fight was left on Eve's face finally falls to the background. She watches as Eve gives up, lets herself go, watches as she submits to the unknown.</p><p> </p><p>"I know that I feel this.. <em>pull </em>to be around you."</p><p> </p><p>Ah, there it is. <em>Acknowledgement</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Something for Villanelle to cling to; help her maintain her sanity. Something to help her from feeling like she is falling into the depths of something inexplicable, something to help her feel like she is not alone in the feeling.</p><p> </p><p>She waits, quietly, carving out a space of silence for Eve to elaborate. The older woman lets her shoulders drop, and she rests her hands on her knees, palms facing upwards, "I don't.. <em>understand</em> it, Villanelle, so don't ask me to explain it. The more I think about it, the less I understand it, actually."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, slowly, and the movement brings awareness to the lump in her throat. Like she swallowed something she was never meant to ingest. Sand, or poison, or maybe just Eve's worlds. She inhales, before asking, feebly, "You think about it?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Does it keep you up at night?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Are you losing sleep? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, quietly, and there is only a ghost of smile playing at her lips when she says, "I think about it, all the time."</p><p> </p><p>A pause, before she admits, "I think about you, all the time."</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle <em>wasn't </em>expecting that. </p><p> </p><p>The dull ache stabs in her gut. She doesn't bring a hand to the ache this time, doesn't attempt to soothe it, doesn't attempt to touch it to understand it better.</p><p> </p><p>She just lets it happen. </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes search Villanelle's with a quiet desperation - as if the younger woman might have the answer, the remedy to Eve's dilemma. She doesn't find anything, because Villanelle has nothing to give her. Eve loses patience, and her mouth opens and closes maybe five times, before she finally wills the words out of her chest,</p><p> </p><p>"I think about.. what you're wearing, and what you're doing while you're working. I think about who you call when you take your lunch break. I think about what friends you have, in Paris, or London, or New York. I think about if you even <em>have </em>people you consider friends. I think about what you eat when you order room service in your hotel. I think about.. what happened in your family and.. what happened with your professor. I just.." Eve deflates fully, and Villanelle almost expects her to fall forward into her lap, but the older woman just slouches, stays seated right where she is, "I just want to know everything."</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes between them, but their eye contact remains unbroken, and Villanelle's body kicks into autopilot, when she whispers, "I think about you too."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't know why she tries to recover; doesn't understand the use of it when all it took was a moment of sincerity between the two of them to help unravel the thought process that has been growing silently in her brain. But she can't help it, she can't help wanting to shield herself from the parts that feeling starkly unfamiliar, so she says, "I mean, I masturbate about you a lot."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes widen, and she shakes her head, "<em>Okay</em>, that's.." </p><p> </p><p>"Too much?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>. It's just.. you asked me why I wanted to be your friend."</p><p> </p><p>"Because you want to.. <em>know</em>? About me?" Villanelle asks, her gaze flicking over Eve's, incredulously. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Eve offers simply, confidently.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever feelings she's been stewing about - wondering whether Eve feels them too - the older woman seems to have a good idea that it stretches both ways. Yes, Eve seems to know that whatever curiosities she's feeling, Villanelle is feeling too.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has been grasping at straws, while Eve has been holding them the entire time. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve, but.." Villanelle trails off, confusion winning the race of whatever emotions are trying to bubble to the surface; her voice is heavy with it when she asks, "That is.. <em>friendship </em>to you? You think about me.. <em>all the time</em>, because you want to be.. <em>friends</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>She can't help the way her lips almost hurt from enunciating the words, dramatically. She hopes that the more she punctuates them, the clearer it will cut through to Eve just how absurd it sounds. </p><p> </p><p> "Yes." Eve offers it up, again, simply.</p><p> </p><p><em>Wow</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has never wanted to stretch three letters out so badly before. She has never wanted to pull words apart and mold them into a sentence - an elaboration. She waits, thinking that one must be coming - a realization, or a some kind of follow-up. Anything more than just <em>Yes</em>. When the older woman doesn't offer either of the sort, the blonde just searches her eyes but they're unreadable - and Villanelle truly can't tell whether Eve is lying, or whether the older woman has truly convinced herself it is some ludicrous version of the truth. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay," Villanelle offers, breathlessly. It's what she can manage.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay?" </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay</em>." </p><p> </p><p>"Can I use your bathroom?" Villanelle asks, but she's already standing up before Eve can answer her. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She steadies herself against the sink. Her knuckles stretch into a pale white as she grasps the corners of of marble top, and she chances a look in the mirror. She looks pale. <em>Sick</em>, almost. Her breath is coming out in trembly sputters - unfamiliar, and agonizing. She could calm herself down if she knew what it was that she was trying to calm herself down from, but she doesn't. Not exactly. She can only make connections to past experiences. </p><p> </p><p>She had been in a bathroom kind of like this on her college campus once, in the same barely-breathing fashion. It happened after Anna called things off between them. Villanelle ran out of her classroom, vowing to not let the older woman see her tears, and she found herself in some family bathroom on the other side of campus. She unraveled onto the tile - a barely-strewn together heap of tears and sputtered breaths. </p><p> </p><p>Is that what her body is trying to do? Protect her from the inevitability of Eve, like it failed to do with Anna?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has always had a powerful intellect, but she has always had a more powerful imagination. It is why she is so good at what she does - turning vacant houses into extravagant landscapes. Part of it is imagination, and part of it is intellect, but the biggest part of it has always been her ability to trust her gut. But.. when her gut warns her of a curly-haired older woman creeping her way into her life, the lines get blurred. She does not know whether it is her imagination turning a situation into something it isn't, or if it is her intellect giving red a red light, telling her to <em>Go, go now while you still can</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The truth is - Villanelle knew from the moment she saw Anna. She knew from the moment she walked into the lecture hall; she knew from the moment her eyes connected with the Professor's that Anna was going to play some role in her life - whether she liked it or not.</p><p> </p><p>And she did. Villanelle fought, and fought, and then she surrendered, and then she unraveled.  But she didn't find herself crying in bathrooms over Anna until a year into their affair. She didn't find herself losing sleep, and yearning, until weeks after sleeping with the woman.</p><p> </p><p>She has known Eve five days, and it is enough to make Villanelle question her sanity. She wonders if its her body trying to warn her now that it has already put itself through hell one time, and she's not sure she can afford another. But how does her body know?</p><p> </p><p>There are ways in which Eve and Anna are similar. Unsure of what they want. Fearful of what they want. <em>Powerful</em>, when they know what they do want. But they are.. vastly different, too. Where Anna was meek and soft, Eve is assertive and sharp. Where Anna was calm and formal, Eve is chaotic and unconventional. But the biggest difference, and probably the most substantial difference, is that Anna never had the effect Eve is managing to have on her, five days into acquaintanceship. <em>Friendship</em>?</p><p> </p><p>It is deranged. She feels like a feral animal, caged, and Eve is the one holding a piece of meat outside of the bars - taunting her. Eve, who she has known less than one week. Eve, who just confirmed a fear that she didn't know she had, only a few minutes ago.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever this is - it is bigger than going along with a bizarre friendship in hopes of getting a <em>really </em>good lay. It is bigger than her. Bigger than the both of them, maybe. </p><p> </p><p>She felt like she had an option before, like she could walk away if she felt that Eve demand too much. At the very least, if she continued to entertain their.. <em>friendship</em>, she felt like she could provide the bare minimum information about herself in hopes that it would suffice the curiosity of Eve's nature. But now, after hearing that Eve thinks about everything, wants to <em>know </em>everything, she knows the latter is not an option.</p><p> </p><p>Given the fact that she is slowly accepting that she is just as curious about Eve as Eve is her, the former doesn't feel like much of an option either. </p><p> </p><p>It is one of the few things Villanelle is actually bad at. Accepting discomfort.</p><p> </p><p>She almost never has to. She always manages to find a way out - whether that be leaving, or faking her way through it, or distracting herself. But she is left with the little options given the current circumstances - which she supposes is the reason she's having such a grotesque reaction tucked in Eve's shitty little bathroom. She has never felt so desperate; such an intense yearning to cling at something, anything to soothe her, even momentarily. </p><p> </p><p>She settles for distracting herself in the only way she currently can.</p><p> </p><p>She opens Eve's medicine cabinet. It's a meek attempt at distraction, but the action also serves as some sort of leg-up, even if it's a small one. A peek into Eve's life - even if it is just a small glimpse. She can hear Konstantin chiding her, in her head - <em>You need to respect people's boundaries, Villanelle! - </em>but it does nothing to curb the action. </p><p> </p><p>It's lackluster. A scrunched up toothpaste bottle, some dirtied eye pads with makeup on them, a couple of pill bottles, and some developed photo of Eve with her arm slung around a scrawny, brunette man. She glances at the pill bottles first - a nearly empty bottle of sleeping pills, and a seemingly untouched bottle of antidepressants. Villanelle tuts, quietly, at the sight of it. <em>Oh, Eve</em>. It should come as no surprise that the older woman would rather sleep through her problems than make any attempt at actually addressing them. She is not judging though - she was put on a plethora of medications after her father died, and she became a certified expert at hiding her pills under her tongue, only to spit them out when her mother wasn't looking.  </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's lips curls in distaste as she skates over the scrunched and oozing toothpaste bottle, sharing a shelf with the dirtied eye pads. <em>Seriously, Eve, the trash can is right there?  </em>She does make a mental note that she sees no face wash. If the older woman has achieved a near-perfect complexion after forty-years of <em>not </em>washing her face, then that is just sinful.</p><p> </p><p>She saves the best for last. She plucks the photo off the top shelf, observing it closely. Eve looks younger in it, maybe by ten years, and the man in it is smiling widely, looking at the dark-haired woman with love in his eyes. Villanelle wonders if its Bill or Niko. She assumes it must be the ex-husband, because this man doesn't look nearly tasteful enough to have decorated such a beautiful living environment. Some part of her hopes it's Bill, though, because <em>Really, Eve? That mustache? You can do better.</em></p><p> </p><p>By the time she puts the photo back, the curl of Villanelle's slip has slowly transitioned from one of disgust to one of amusement. The differences between her and Eve are outlined so readily on the cabinet shelves, and she can't help but take some pleasure in the hilarity of it all. Villanelle pictures her own bathroom - toothpaste tube neatly rolled up, her 6-step skin care routine bottles neatly organized by size, and any pictures of past lovers tucked neatly away somewhere <em>much</em>safer from prying eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Mm, sure, her and Eve are.. <em>similar </em>- that is undeniable - but they are very different, too. There is comfort in that, even if it is small. </p><p> </p><p>Where Villanelle is precise, Eve is imprecise.</p><p> </p><p>In ways much bigger than just scrunched up tubes of toothpaste, and eye make-up remover. In ways that extend out of the bathroom she currently finds herself in, and into the nature of their personalities. In ways that fully contrast her relationship with Anna. </p><p> </p><p>They're both reactive, <em>sure </em>- but Villanelle handles herself carefully, through manipulation and charm, and Eve handles herself explosively - through heated words, and clumsy approach.</p><p> </p><p>Where Villanelle embraces who she is, Eve represses who she is. </p><p> </p><p>They are two people with the ability to balance each other out - or destroy each other, completely. There is no way to know which outcome awaits them without finding out. And if Villanelle were to leave right now, she wonders if it would be something akin to a snake eating its own tail. Destroying herself before she gave Eve the opportunity to.</p><p> </p><p>But, Villanelle thinks of the red ceramic apple on Eve's living room table.</p><p> </p><p>It was the serpent that convinced Eve to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. It was the serpent that allowed Eve to understand, even if that meant destroying itself along the way. </p><p> </p><p>And maybe, that's what allows her to leave the bathroom - breathing studied, and confidence in-tact. Maybe it's the first step in accepting whatever role Eve is supposed to play in her life; the first step in accepting that there is no way to know unless she finds out. No way for Eve to know until she takes a bit of the, <em>literally</em>, God-forsaken apple.</p><p> </p><p>And if God curses them along the way, that is fine. She never cared for his <em>shit </em>work anyways.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When she walks back into the living room, Eve stops scrolling through her phone and regards her with a quirked eyebrow. "Oh good, you're alive. I was getting anxious that you accidentally food-poisoned us." </p><p> </p><p>The blonde sits on the couch, crossing her legs, before turning her body to face Eve's. The older woman's expression twists as she becomes conscious of Villanelle's silence, and she just begins to open her mouth again, when the blonde finally speaks.</p><p> </p><p>"Was your mom around?" Villanelle asks, with a quirked eyebrow of her own.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>-" Eve flounders, her forehead creasing, "What are you talking about?"</p><p> </p><p>"Was your mom around?" Villanelle asks again, directly.</p><p> </p><p>"I-.. <em>yes</em>? Yes, my mom was around." Eve relents, but her mouth is still pulled into a frown, "Why do you ask?"</p><p> </p><p>"Because you asked me."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes are heavy with puzzlement, and <em>God </em>- as sharp as the older woman is, she can be seriously oblivious. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle continues, "You are not the only one who wants to know things, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows unknit slowly.</p><p> </p><p>"I am fine with this.. <em>friendship</em>," Villanelle gestures between the two of them, "if that is what you want to call it. But that does not mean you get to demand whatever information you want, without expecting to be asked the same in return. Understood?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth parts slightly, but she gives a small nod.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle smiles, "Good. Because I am not a fan of power dynamics."</p><p> </p><p>She <em>is</em>, actually. Just when she is the one in power.</p><p> </p><p>"Tell me about your mom." Villanelle states, slapping Eve's thigh as she leans back in her chair. Eve's face looks hilarious - eyes wide with shock - as she watches the blonde undergo a quick transformation from sober and serious, to chipper and inquisitive. </p><p> </p><p>"Uh.." Eve shakes her head - a physical attempt to collect herself, "She worked a lot. When she wasn't working, she devoted her time to volunteering at our Church. She'd drag me along with her, and that's about the extent of the time we spent together." Eve continues, her words easing as she slips out of whatever shock state she was previously in, "I think I mentioned the whole devout Christians thing." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods; she can't hide her grin. It is so hard to picture Eve in any Church-like setting, even in her youth. The image of Eve sitting in a Sunday school class is not something she can conceptualize.</p><p> </p><p>"And your dad?" </p><p> </p><p>A small smile plays at Eve's lips, "I'm closer with my dad. He's.. funny, but neither of them exactly.. <em>approved </em>of the path I chose for myself. My dad just had an easier time getting over it," she concludes with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Villanelle contemplates it, scratching her chin.</p><p> </p><p>"Was your dad around?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle drops her jaw in a playful scoff, before she tuts. "Don't be so eager, Eve. I think I am owed a couple answers first, no?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, but she can still see the fight in Eve's eyes. She knows that older woman can't argue given the onslaught of questions she bestowed upon Villanelle yesterday, but she also knows that if they are..<em>taking turns </em>now, Eve expects to cash in on her end of the trade. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, before adding, "We will come back to it, okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"Fine."</p><p> </p><p>"Why did you invite me here tonight?" Villanelle asks, eyeing her carefully.</p><p> </p><p>"I already told you. Because I didn't want to watch some shitty <em>rom-com </em>in your hotel room!"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises her eyebrow, as Eve's tone raises. <em>Defensive, much?</em></p><p> </p><p>"I believe that is true," Villanelle offers, "but I also think there is something you are leaving out."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Eve asks, through gritted teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"I think you wanted me to come over herebecause being in your own home provides you with some sense of.. <em>control</em>." </p><p> </p><p>She pauses, and the subtle bob of Eve's throat; the slight recoil of her shoulders, motivates her to continue. </p><p> </p><p>"I think there is some part of you that doesn't know what you want when you're around me, and that <em>scares </em>you." Villanelle leans closer, and Eve leans back. Her eyes trail over the older woman's face. "You are fighting some desire, Eve, whether you know it or not. I am starting to think you do, though. This desire.. it is easier to fight here, no? If you are overwhelmed with the want to.. say, <em>touch me</em>, hm? I am just spitting-balling here. But for example, if you are overwhelmed with the desire to touch me, you can just kick me out. Send me on my way so you do not have to deal with it."</p><p> </p><p>She pauses, sitting close enough to see the brief flutter of Eve's eyelashes, but the older woman makes no move to respond. If Villanelle wasn't close enough to see the subtle movement of Eve balling her hands into fists, she'd think that the older woman entered into some comatose state. Completely still. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>But</em>, if you wanted to, mm.. <em>touch me </em>in my hotel room, you would have to depend completely on your will. <em>You </em>would have to make the decision to get up and leave." Villanelle takes her bottom lip between her teeth before asking, "Do you trust yourself, Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve's silence, stretching and unbroken, is enough of an answer for Villanelle to lean back. </p><p> </p><p>She will accept an honest silence over a bullshit answer.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't take her eyes off the Eve as the woman swallows, before pulling herself back up into a sitting position. She doesn't take her eyes off Eve as the older woman closes hers eyes tightly, inhaling deeply, before she re-opens them, and shoots daggers into Villanelle's eyes.</p><p> </p><p>The daggers say <em>No</em>, and Villanelle laughs quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Eve looks very close to putting her hands around Villanelle's throat. </p><p> </p><p>She wonders if the action would be fueled by desire, or hate. She wonders how fine the line between those two things is.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you done?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks an eyebrow, but her hands are still balled into fists at her sides, and Villanelle has to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the sight.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, actually, no." Villanelle states, leaning back and letting her arms sprawl along the frame of the couch. "I have a couple more."</p><p> </p><p>Eve just stares at her.</p><p> </p><p>She lets whatever sultry inflection previously lacing her tone fall away completely. Her next question is a genuine one. She is really just curious, and she hopes it will allow her to understand Eve's position, from her eyes - if only a little bit. </p><p> </p><p>"That whole.. monologue, that you just gave me. You <em>think</em> about me, you want to <em>know</em> things," she recounts as bobs her head, before asking, "Is this how you feel about Elena? Hugo? Is that how you felt about Bill?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes turn a dark shade of murderous at the mention of Bill's name, and <em>alright, </em>maybe that was a misstep on Villanelle's part. She did not even mean it as a low blow. She is just very curious what friendship looks like to Eve, if that is what she is categorizing their relationship as. She would not need to bring up Bill if she knew enough about Eve to know what other friends she could have listed. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets her eyes soften. She shakes her gently, as if to let Eve know that it was not meant as an attack, but simply an inquiry. Eve doesn't accept it - her eyes don't lighten from their current state of blackness, but she answers anyways, with a tense mouth, "<em>No</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Villanelle hums, a respect bubbling in her chest at Eve answering her honestly when she did not have to. It is a confirmation. An important one; it leads her to her next question. Villanelle scratches her cheek before asking, "Do you want to come on a trip with me this weekend?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes bulge - lightening from a black fury to a coffee-colored shock - as she searches Villanelle's face for any feature that could indicate some weird kind of joke. There isn't one, because she is serious, so she stares back at Eve - with a small, and slightly sheepish, smile.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you being serious right now?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve." Villanelle rubs her palm against the material of her jeans, subtly, before asking, "Have you heard of Bolton, Pennsylvania?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve lower her brows, her voice is wary when she replies, "<em>Yes</em>.. Hugo and I have gone skiing there a couple of times." </p><p> </p><p><em>Oh, good</em>. Eve knows it. People are more likely to agree to potentially uncomfortable circumstances if there is a sense of familiarity they can cling to. In that sense, Eve has a leg up on her. Villanelle did not expect to invite her - she made the decision to go away as a hope of clearing her mind of Eve-related thoughts, and now here she was, inviting the very thing that she was hoping to get away from to come along with her. It is very.. illogical. But it puts them on an equal playing field - both of them extracted from the comfort of their current bubble, and thrown into a new environment. Newer to Villanelle than it is to Eve, seemingly.</p><p> </p><p>"I bought a piece of furniture from a seller there. The ski resort seems very nice." She pauses to look to Eve for confirmation, and the older woman nods, slowly, "I am going to stay for the night. Would you like to come?" </p><p> </p><p>She offers it so matter-of-factly that it seems to confuse Eve further. The older woman opens and closers her mouth a couple times, before running her hands over her face - obscuring Villanelle's view completely. When she pulls them away, she shakes her head before saying, "I work on the weekends."</p><p> </p><p>"You can not get it covered?" Villanelle asks. </p><p> </p><p>Eve snorts, coldly, at that, "Oh, I could probably get it covered. Hugo is permanently in debt to me given the amount of times I've closed the bar for him so he can go home with one of the.. <em>patrons</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's shoulders perk up a bit, "Oh. Well, that is a good thing, yes?"</p><p> </p><p>"Just because I can doesn't mean I will." Eve states, frigidly, and her eyes are icy when she lets them fall upon Villanelle's, "Right now, I'm still trying to figure out whether you're a total asshole or not."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Um, ouch?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle narrows her eyebrows,  "Eve. I did not mean the Bill thing like that, I-"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not talking about that." Eve hisses, and the sharpness of it slices through her lips. "Let's talk about how <em>you </em>feel, hm? You just gave me a whole <em>fucking </em>speech about how I invited you over because I don't trust myself, so what exactly are <em>your</em> intentions, Villanelle? Inviting me to stay the night with you in <em>butt-fuck-no-where</em>Bolton?" Eve laughs, and it is somehow sharper than the words she's spewing, "You know, I'm starting to think that <em>you </em>like it when I don't trust myself." </p><p> </p><p>A moment of silence, a moment of shock, a moment of misunderstanding that Villanelle can't bear to let linger for a moment longer.</p><p> </p><p>"I do not like it, Eve." Villanelle's mouth is slightly parted, and she utters the words immediately - concise and sincere. </p><p> </p><p>Eve gazes at her, incredulously.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle feels a discomfort bubble at the bottom of her spine, travel up to her jaw, until it squeezes itself out of her mouth. </p><p> </p><p>"What I do not like is when you repress yourself. You do it, all of the time." Eve opens her mouth to argue, but Villanelle doesn't let her, "It is true. You do. I see it, and I do not like it. In fact, I hate it."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's jaw goes a little slack, and she's no longer trying to inject her argument, which is <em>good </em>because Villanelle can't seem to stop, now that she's started, "You are.. <em>fiery</em>, Eve. Yes, it is.. very annoying, but it is also powerful. It does not make me feel good to watch you try to hide it. To watch you try to put your flames out."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, stopping to collect her thoughts, because as long as she spoken English, her words tend to get jumbled when she is in the heat of the moment. </p><p> </p><p>"It is annoying that you do not know what you want, but that is fine, I can deal with that. What I can not deal with is watching you try to hide yourself from what you want. I do not want anything from <em>you </em>unless you also want it. There is no.. <em>fun</em> in that, for me. " Villanelle laughs, coldly, as she shakes her head. She wonders if her eyes showcase the subtle pain Eve's words brought her, "God, Eve. <em>Yes</em>, I am an asshole, fine. But I am not.. <em>sadistic</em>." </p><p> </p><p><em>Is that really what you think of me?</em> is the question that follows in her head, but that she doesn't dare speak life. </p><p> </p><p>Eve is gazing at her, with a quiet kind of dumbfound. </p><p> </p><p>"I <em>asked </em>you to come with me. It is a question, not a demand. So do not play victim and make me feel like I'm forcing you into something you do not want to do. You do that a lot, by the way. Making me feel like I'm holding a gun to your head to.. <em>be around me</em>." Villanelle is looking at her, pointedly, and Eve averts her eyes, shamefully. <em>Good</em>, Eve should feel shameful. Villanelle can deal with a lot of things - self-victimizing is not one of them. "You are the one who invited <em>me </em>here, remember?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs.</p><p> </p><p>It is booming, and loud, and genuine. She laughs, and laughs, until she collapses against the couch cushion. Villanelle watches the whole thing confusedly, because maybe Eve really is losing her mind, but she just collapses against the couch cushion next to her. If Eve is losing her mind, that is fine - maybe that means they do not have to argue anymore. Villanelle is very tired of it. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>God</em>, this is.. crazy." Eve sighs, her laughter now quieting into a soft chuckle. </p><p> </p><p>"Hm?" Villanelle looks at her.</p><p> </p><p>"This." She gestures between the two of them. "Five fucking days," she mutters.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you planning to start making sense any time soon, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve rests her elbow against the cushion, resting her cheek in her palm, as she turns to look at the blonde, "We have known each other five days and we are arguing like we've been married for twenty years."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, "That is a shit marriage. We are not even having sex."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, "That is how marriage goes. I can tell you from experience." </p><p> </p><p>"We do not have to do it. Argue, you know." </p><p> </p><p>"Is that even possible?" Eve laughs, humorlessly. "What's option B?"</p><p> </p><p>"Accept it." Villanelle offers simply, with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's shoulders deflate a bit at that, and she asks, "Have you? Accepted it?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle purses her lips, letting her eyes bounce around before answering, "I think that I am starting to." </p><p> </p><p>Eve pauses for a bit, then a simple, "Okay."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Good, because I am tired." Villanelle blows the air from her cheeks, pushing herself into a standing position before stretching her arms over her head. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh, are you leaving?" Eve straightens her posture into a sitting position, letting her hands fall in her lap as Villanelle turns to look at her. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve. You are very draining to be around." She offers a small smile, letting the statement come out playfully, even though she means it completely. "You will think about the cabin?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Eve offers, slowly standing up, "I'll walk you out." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle buries her hands into her coat pocket as Eve trails behind her to the front door.</p><p> </p><p>The older woman's footfall sounds slow, heavy, <em>sticky</em> and Villanelle hears the weight of them with every step. </p><p> </p><p>When the blonde reaches for the doorknob, she closes her eyes, letting her shoulders drop before turning around.</p><p> </p><p>She will give Eve one last thing before she leaves.</p><p> </p><p>A peace offering.</p><p> </p><p>A show of acceptance. </p><p> </p><p>A tightening of the rope that they have no choice but to push, and to pull.</p><p> </p><p>"My dad's favorite type of poem was a Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle offers it, quietly; stoically. She can't quite bring herself to meet Eve's eyes. But she watches as the older woman's body stills as she receives the information, giving Villanelle's words her complete and undivided attention.</p><p> </p><p>"He died when I was young. That is why I chose that name." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shoulder's drop with an exhale, as she releases them into the world - flying and free, and no longer able to be taken back. Eve's mouth hesitates, the only moving thing on her body, but her voice is thick with a sincere gratitude when she says,</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you for telling me, Villanelle." </p><p> </p><p>And that is what Eve's gives her back. The sweet sound of her name rolling off of her lips - uttered with a profound beauty. It is more freeing than a<em>I'm sorry for your loss</em> could ever be. It does not leave room for the blonde to regret giving her words to Eve, not when Eve takes the name and carves it into such a heavenly sound. Villanelle hopes to hear it fall from Eve's lips many more times.</p><p> </p><p>"Good night, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>She turns around and leaves through the door - her movements fluid and quick, but not rushed. Her name is the last thing she wants to hear from Eve's lips that night, but she isn't successful. It isn't until the door is about to close that she hears a quiet and surprised, <em>Good night</em>, follow after her as she treks down the hall way.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Villanelle lays down on her hotel bed, she does not think of Eve in a way that is stressful or confusing.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks of Eve in a peaceful way. </p><p> </p><p>It is strange - that as much as the two women can provoke each other, they can pacify one another. She thinks of Eve's shoulders collapsing as she threw up her white flag, falling into the couch cushions. Like a stick of dynamite waiting to explode, but water wets the wick before the spark can reach it.  </p><p> </p><p>She thinks of Eve peacefully that night, sure, but more surprisingly, she does not even think of her for very long. No, instead, she thinks of her father. She always does whenever she speaks life to him, with her words - that is why she talks about him very rarely. But, she opened the floodgate tonight, and so she will let the water wash over her.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks of his favorite poem, one he used to read to her before bed every night:</p><p> </p><p><em>One Art </em>by Elizabeth Bishop. She knows it by heart. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The art of losing isn’t hard to master;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>so many things seem filled with the intent</em>
</p><p>
  <em>to be lost that their loss is no disaster.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Lose something every day. Accept the fluster</em>
</p><p>
  <em>of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The art of losing isn’t hard to master.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Then practice losing farther, losing faster:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>places, and names, and where it was you meant</em>
</p><p>
  <em>to travel. None of these will bring disaster.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or</em>
</p><p>
  <em>next-to-last, of three loved houses went.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The art of losing isn’t hard to master.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the art of losing’s not too hard to master</em>
</p><p>
  <em>though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She lets her imagination believe that maybe, he is watching over her from some unknown dimension. She wonders if he's proud. She wonders if he is proud, having watched her master a life she never should have been afforded. He wonders if she is proud - that of all the things she has mastered - that losing is one of them. </p><p> </p><p>Because that is what she is doing by accepting Eve into her life, no?</p><p> </p><p>She is mastering the art of losing. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cries herself to sleep that night, but she doesn't stay awake long enough to understand whether the tears are good or bad. They feel heavy with both grief, and gratitude. She wonders if lines only exist to be blurred, because it <em>surely</em> seems like it.</p><p> </p><p>Yes - the lines blur between Eve and Anna, the lines blur between love and hate, the lines blur between grief and gratitude, and the lines definitely blur between grief and gratitude. </p><p> </p><p>When the line separating the conscious from the subconscious begins to blur, she sleeps.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>god, this chapter gave me whiplash - but it had to happen. their dynamic is so funky n fated! </p><p>at least the elephant in the room has been addressed, even if Eve regards it w/ a (seemingly) oblivious eye. </p><p>thank you all so much! I can't say it enough! comments and criticisms are always so welcome! Xoxo &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>should I have split this into two chapters?  yes.</p><p>did I keep it as one chapter, for some fucking reason? also yes.</p><p>there are some major TW's for this chapter, so please regard this list before reading!</p><p>TW: mentions of child abuse<br/>TW: mentions of suicide<br/>TW: cptsd/disassociation</p><p>I'd never want any of you to stumble into something you didn't sign up for! this was a really heavy chapter to write, and I wanted to be thoughtful about not going overboard whilst also giving truth to V's past, but it was a fine line to walk.</p><p>I have said this on every chapter, and will continue to shout it - but thank you all for commenting, and leaving kudos on this fic! it really spurs the motivation to keep writing (which I would do regardless, lol, do not worry - this fic shan't be abandoned before it is finished), but it means the world to met to hear your insight! </p><p>this chapter is a little devastating, and I have to extend an obligatory sorry for that - but I hope that the softness makes up for it, in some regard. </p><p>P.S. - you may have noticed that I edited the number of chapters this fic will extend to! it's because I finally feel confident knowing how I want to continue, and where I want to end it! we are getting there, my friends, but take that with a grain of salt. I did think my last fic was only going to be three chapters, and look where that ended up, lol. </p><p>as always, sending upmost care to all of you, a thousand thank you's, and all of my luv xoxo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The weekdays stretch on, painfully and slowly, like poison-laced honey dripping off a spoon.</p><p> </p><p>Each moment passes strenuously, slowly; pregnant with potential to kill her.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle had woken up to a text from Eve on Thursday morning, the day after she left the older woman's apartment, and the blonde had to re-read it twice to make sure she was seeing correctly.</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Hugo said he'd cover my shift on Saturday</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It only took Eve one night to decide, and while the blonde is certain that the sentence reads as a confirmation, she needs to make certain the words she reads are synonymous with <em>Yes</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>So.. you are coming? </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>If you'll still have me.</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts at the text. She has yet to have Eve in any capacity, so she is not sure how that is possible, but she will not push her luck.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't even get out of bed before she calls the resort, reserving their most expensive suite - a room on the top floor, with two rooms. She only barely gets out of bed before she remembers she should probably rent a box truck to transport the piece she is going there to buy, in the first place. She nearly forgot she was going for business. Business is very from her mind, for once.</p><p> </p><p>She does all of this, before texting Eve back with a simple:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>😺</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They still manage to see each other, in some capacity, every day until Saturday comes. </p><p> </p><p>Eve texts her, later on in the afternoon on Thursday. At first, it seems like she is just trying to engage in small talk with Villanelle.. which is very un-like Eve, but it only takes a few exchanged messages for the blonde to piece together what the older woman is getting at.</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>I'm bored. I don't go into work for another four hours. How's the house going?</em></p><p> </p><p>I am making great progress. Konstantin is impressed, which is not unusual. I am very good at my job! 🙊</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: Yeah, you've mentioned that. A few times. <em><span class="emoji">🙄</span></em></p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Do you want one of those overly-sweet abominations? You know, the things you try to pass off as coffees? </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>..Are you offering to bring me one?</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Yeah. I don't have anything better to do. </em></p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Unless you're too busy! Which is fine, obviously</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Never too busy for you, Eve 😉I will take a Mocha Frappuccino this time please! </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>:<em>It is a miracle your body still functions.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If only you knew just how well it functions 😉</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Two winky faces in a row? You're rusty. Be there in 30.</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle should really be using her time wisely, before Eve arrives. She was on a roll before the older woman had texted her - messaging three different sellers about potential bed frames for Carolyn's master room. But the text interaction pulled her attention away from the matter at hand, completely. Eve is bringing her coffee, <em>willingly</em>. She did not even have to ask. No, Eve <em>offered - </em>and behaved like a teenage-boy in the process. Excuses of <em>boredom </em>and <em>I don't have anything better to do</em>, Villanelle snorted when she read the messages. It is <em>very </em>unlike Eve - and so Villanelle starts wondering what must be going through the that beautiful, but annoying, head of hers.</p><p> </p><p>Does Eve feel guilty about last night? Is she nervous? Does she feel like she owes Villanelle something? </p><p> </p><p>She stares blankly at the responses flooding into her e-mail, from the different sellers she had reached out to, regarding the bed frames. She doesn't click on a single one. No, instead, she just lets her eyes glaze over as she stares at the computer screen - irises resting fixedly on the unmoving curser. She considers replying to the seller who had contacted her most recently, considers sending back something along the lines of: <em>Weird question - how do you know whether the thirty-nine year old woman, who you have a very confusing relationship with, actually likes you or not?</em></p><p> </p><p>She doesn't get to entertain the idea for long before there is a knock at her front door.</p><p> </p><p>When she opens it, Eve is standing there - in her usually <em>shitty</em> coat, hair up, and two coffees in her hands. Villanelle accepts her Mocha Frappuccino with a squeal, sucking on the straw, before welcoming in a very petulant looking Eve. The older woman pushes past her, settling for a grunt instead of a <em>Hello </em>today, and Villanelle just rolls her eyes. Eve is not capable of doing anything nice, without packing a punch at the end. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve sits down on the couch, she removes her jacket and Villanelle is surprised to see that the older woman is wearing a <em>short-sleeve </em>turtleneck. It is one that is much more form-fitting, and complimentary to her upper arms. As the younger woman takes in the sight, she can't help but wonder if Eve thought about the suggestion she had made the night before - about showing off her body, not hiding in it beneath baggy coats and ill-fitting sweaters. She wonders if this is Eve's way of doing it. She lets her eyes trail over Eve's still tied-up hair and wonders, again, if the older woman is giving her some kind of crumb. It feels like it - the juxtaposition of the short-sleeve, with her beautiful hair being still being locked away.</p><p> </p><p>It is very like Eve - to offer something, whilst still being defiant in the process. </p><p> </p><p>They sit quietly for a moment, before Eve asks to see the pieces Villanelle has purchased. The younger woman opens her laptop, clicking through the tabs that she has yet to close. Eve raises two surprised eyebrows when Villanelle pulls up the tab with the African Blackwood TV Stand.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, that's the one I pointed out the other day," Eve states, surprisedly.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, it is. I think that a couple darker pieces will look nice in here." Villanelle replies, off-handedly, and she clicks out of the tab.</p><p> </p><p>"Does that I mean I get a percentage of the cut?" Eve waggles her eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thinks about telling her that she really <em>should</em>, since she purchased the piece after noticing how beautiful the darkness of Eve's hair looked against the paleness of the walls. She thinks about calling her something along the lines of an inadvertent muse. She thinks about offering Eve a job - sitting in the homes Villanelle gets assigned to decorate, to spur inspiration. She doesn't say any of it. </p><p> </p><p>"You will get no such thing, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>Eve nudges her arm playfully, and that's when Villanelle realizes that Eve seems fine. She does not seem weird, or tense, or <em>guilty</em>, and the blonde realizes that the older woman must have brought her a coffee simply because she wanted to. It is a nice realization; probably the most simple one she has come to since knowing Eve. </p><p> </p><p>Eve stays with her for a couple of hours, sitting on the couch, while Villanelle clicks through e-mails. It is similar to the first time she came to Carolyn's home, minus the intrusive line of questioning, which is.. <em>surprising</em>. Eve still asks her things, but they do not intersect with traumas of Villanelle's childhood or scorned past lovers - no, they are very simple things. </p><p> </p><p>Her favorite color (<em>pink</em>, which Eve lets out a heavy guffaw at), what city she thinks has the best architecture (<em>Lisbon, Portugal, I almost moved there instead of Paris</em>), Eve then asks if Villanelle can speak Portuguese (she responds to with a <em>Sim, eu acho você bonita, </em>and she has to bite her lip from smiling at the cute expression on Eve's confused face when she doesn't understand a bit of it), Eve asks if she knows how to ski (to which Villanelle responds, <em>yes but that does not mean I like it </em>and Eve frowns).</p><p> </p><p>It isn't until Eve mentions skiing that Villanelle is able to understand why the line of questioning feels.. <em>simpler</em>, today. There isan anxious energy lingering around Eve's edges, after all - she just wasn't able to pinpoint it sooner because it is not the same frantic Eve energy she is used to. It is not repressive, or rigid - no, Eve's line of questioning is easier today because she is antsy about this weekend. An edge of anxiety, rounded out by a tint of excitement. It isn't until she picks up on it, that Villanelle realizes she is nervous, too. </p><p> </p><p>She worries to think what Eve will ask her when they are trapped in a car together, or locked away in a master suite, high in the mountains. In fact, her stomach aches if she thinks about it for too long - so, she doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>She asks Eve's simple things back, and relishes in the easiness of it. She wonders what their relationship could look like if they only scratched the surface, if they didn't maintain a stark fixation on delving deep into one another's livelihood. They might have a shot at actually being <em>friends</em>. It is a fun fantasy to think about, yes, but a very unrealistic one. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle learns that Eve was in band in high school (<em>flute)</em>, but also smoked weed, which doesn't make sense in any culture, probably. Villanelle learns that Eve only dated one person before she married Niko, some man named <em>Melvin </em>who really liked punk-rock and majored in Philosophy, which is hard to imagine. Much harder to imagine that Eve sleeping with a woman in college - who she learns was named <em>Natasha</em>, a red-head who majored in English, and Eve recounts it as the best sex of her life, even though she was drunk and can't even remember if she came. When she tells Villanelle this, her cheeks blush a deep shade of pink, and Villanelle suddenly feels very jealous of this <em>Natasha </em>- jealous of the fact that she only gets to see Eve's blush as the outcome of the experience, rather than being the one who gets to look up at it, with her head between Eve's thighs. Villanelle also learns Eve's last name is Polastri, or at least until the divorce is finalized. Her surname is <em>Ahn</em>, which she feels no connection to. Villanelle understands why when Eve tells her it means tranquility. </p><p> </p><p>It is the furthest thing she thinks of when she thinks of Eve. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's Frappuccino is nearly gone, and her laptop long since discarded on the floor, by the time Eve gets up to leave. She did not get any work done, but it does not bother her like it would have before. Maybe it's because she is completely on track to getting what was supposed to be a month-long project done in three weeks. Or maybe, it's because she is starting to measure time a little differently. She is nearing the end of the her first week in Franklin, which means 1/3 of the time she gets with Eve, if she finishes when she told Konstantin she would. If she is a little set back, she figures it's okay. It is a house for Carolyn Martens, after all, which means it has to be perfect. </p><p> </p><p>It isn't until Eve is pulling that <em>shitty</em> coat over her bare arms that Villanelle blurts, "Will you come shopping with me tomorrow?"</p><p> </p><p>"Shopping?" Eve raises an incredulous eyebrow, and the blonde can feel the denial lingering around the two syllables of the word.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. I need a new puffer jacket. And skis." Villanelle answers, with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>Eve pulls the jacket firmly around her shoulders before asking, "I thought you didn't like skiing?" </p><p> </p><p>"I don't." <em>But you do</em>. Villanelle rolls her eyes, "But we are going to a ski resort, after all. <em>When in Rome</em>, you know." Villanelle shrugs, again.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sure they have skiis you can rent there."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's lip curls in disgust. </p><p> </p><p>"Ew, Eve. Other people's feet have been in those."</p><p> </p><p>It's Eve's turn to roll her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Primadonna." She sighs, turning her back on the blonde in favor of trekking towards the front door, "My shift starts at three."</p><p> </p><p>That is a <em>yes</em>. Eve is very good at saying yes without actually saying it, Villanelle realizes. </p><p> </p><p>"Bye, Eve!" She shouts after her, which Eve returns with a grunt, before shutting the door behind her. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle collapses back on the couch, and pulls her laptop onto her lap. It suddenly feels very quiet in the house. Yes, the house feels very quiet after Eve leaves. Dusty, too. </p><p> </p><p>That is why she puts off buying a bed frame. She spends the remainder of her working hours dusting Carolyn's home, which one may say is, <em>arguably</em>, dust-less. When she finishes working that day, she does so without buying a bed frame - or a single piece of furniture, for that matter. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>On Friday morning, she drags Eve to the only outlet mall in Franklin. </p><p> </p><p>They spend nearly two hours in REI.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle <em>oohs </em>and <em>ahhs</em> at the various trinkets they have on display. She has never been in an REI before. She made a point to complain, excessively, about the complete lack of designer stores in Franklin, but when Eve pointed out that Gucci probably didn't design skis anyways, she had accepted her fate.</p><p> </p><p>Eve has to drag Villanelle away from the various kayaks they have on display, when the blonde mentions something about <em>kayaking could be fun, Eve. </em>The older woman does not seem to agree that making a spontaneous $1,200 purchase qualifies as fun. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve finally drags Villanelle into the aisle with the snow gear, she relents. She tries on five different snow-suits, asking Eve's opinion on all of them - but Eve only ever replies with, <em>sure, yes, looks good, </em>so Villanelle doesn't hold her opinion in high regard. She ends up buying a pink one-piece, with pink skis to match, and a pink helmet. Eve has the audacity to look slightly embarrassed at the register, which Villanelle rolls her eyes at. Eve is just <em>jealous </em>that Villanelle will be the best-dressed person at the resort. She offered to buy Eve a new jacket, at least a dozen times, but Eve refused every single one. So, if Eve is jealous, that is her own fault. </p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't ask her any questions that afternoon, surprisingly.</p><p> </p><p>It is <em>not </em>surprising, however, that they find a way to argue anyways. It happens in the food court. They're in line for soft pretzels - Eve lets her buy these, at least - and Villanelle guffaws when Eve orders a <em>Raisin </em>pretzel. No, not cinnamon sugar like Villanelle, not a classic salted like a <em>normal </em>person, but a <em>Raisin</em> pretzel. It is disgraceful, and Villanelle tells her as much when they sit down to eat. </p><p> </p><p>"Raisins do not belong in pretzels, Eve. It is gross." Villanelle chides, dipping her cinnamon sugar pretzel in some icing, and plopping it into her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"Whatever. You're gross," Eve counters, taking a bite of the abomination, and letting out an overdramatic <em>Mmm </em>as she chews.</p><p> </p><p>"Better to be gross than tasteless." Villanelle shrugs, looking non-plussed. </p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth parts at that, and she straightens her shoulders before saying, "Fuck you!"</p><p> </p><p>"No, fuck <em>you</em>, Eve, and your pretzel." </p><p> </p><p>That how's the argument starts - it begins with soft pretzels, and transforms into something about taste, and luxury, and <em>you have no respect for the simple things, Villanelle</em>. The argument escalates when Villanelle picks up the other half of Eve's pretzel and throws it in the fountain in the food court. The argument ends when Villanelle feels bad for doing so, and promptly gets up to stand in a line and order another <em>fucking </em>Raisin pretzel. </p><p> </p><p>After Eve leaves for work, a fresh Raisin pretzel in tow, she returns to Carolyn's to catch up on her emails. She works late into the evening - not ordering anything, but perusing - before she gets her first question from Eve, via text.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>Can you please tell Elena to shut up before I change my mind about going to the fucking resort?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She quirks an eyebrow at the text, but not even two moments later, a flood of messages from Elena appears on her phone.</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>a fucking cabin trip?! you better tell me all about it, you useless lesbian</em></p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>eve is in a mood</em></p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>can I come? I'll hide in the trunk</em></p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>ok stupid question obvs. you two enjoy yourselves. I'm glad Eve is getting out</em></p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>but you will tell me everything when you get back. don't think I'll forget. xoxo</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just shakes her at the flood of texts from Elena, biting her lip to hold back a smile. It is, at the very least, nice to have somebody to affirm that whatever is happening with Eve is not a result of her losing her sanity. Even if Elena believes in silly things like fate, and soulmates. </p><p> </p><p>She replies, with a chaste, </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stop pestering, and maybe I'll tell you. I would like to come back from the cabin trip alive. It is not likely if you send Eve into a murderous streak.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>fineee</em></p><p> </p><p>She gets another text from Eve a couple hours later,</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Elena shut up. Thanks for.. whatever you did to make that happen. </em></p><p> </p><p>She replies, immediately, </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes, I am a saint.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't hear from Eve for the rest of the night.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls up to Eve's apartment at noon, two coffees placed precariously in the cupholders of the two-seater box truck, and she shoots Eve a text to let her know she's outside. She sighs, as she sends it off.</p><p> </p><p>She does not like texting to announce her arrival. She is old-fashioned, in some ways. Like knocking, and <em>letters</em>, and sending flowers. In theory, of course. She does not actually date in ways that would allow that kind of behavior, but she likes it, in theory.</p><p> </p><p>She liked doing it for Anna. Anna did not like it though - she would always chastise her with arguments of <em>What if Max saw? </em>or <em>You can not be so reckless, Oksana</em>. She hated when Anna used her birth name.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if Eve would like these kinds of things. She feels it likely that Eve <em>does </em>have a romantic side - it is just buried under all the fun-hating nihilism. She thinks Eve would be the type to sneer if she got flowers delivered to her at the office, only to take them home and arrange them into a beautiful bouquet. There is something about tapping into Eve's secret softness that feels very special. <em>Alluring</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But sitting in front of Eve's apartment, in a fucking <em>U-haul</em>, holds no sense of old-fashioned energy. She just thanks her lucky stars that Elena is not there to see it, because she would not hear the end of it. </p><p> </p><p>Eve finally emerges from the front of the bar, in typical-flustered fashion, trying to juggle a suitcase and her skis between her hands. Villanelle takes a moment to laugh, before stepping out of the vehicle, and grabbing Eve's belongings from her arms. The older woman offers her a disgruntled <em>Thanks </em>while Villanelle places her things in the back. When she closes the latch of the truck, she lets her hands fall on her hip, before turning to Eve with a triumphant smile. Something about seeing Eve's luggage; ir affirming the fact that the older woman actually agree'd to go out of town with her, allows her a moment of victory.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes?" Eve asks, quirking an eyebrow, as she lets her eyes rake over Villanelle's features.</p><p> </p><p>"I did not take you for an over-packer, Eve." Villanelle relays, letting her hands fall from her hips as she moves to walk past Eve in favor of opening the passenger door for her, "A suitcase for one night?" She tuts, playfully.</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, and Villanelle wonders if its because of the door-opening or the remark, but she figures its probably a little bit of both. </p><p> </p><p> "Yeah, well. You try packing a ski helmet into a backpack." Eve says, as she moves to step into the truck. When she sits down, she adds, "Don't act like I didn't just see your <em>two </em>suitcases back there."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve. That is because I dress in such a way that warrants an expansive wardrobe." Villanelle offers, as it if is obvious, before adding, "I can't imagine a ski helmet would get in the way of your various turtlenecks."</p><p> </p><p>Eve slams the door before she can respond. </p><p> </p><p>When Villanelle slides into the drivers seat, Eve glances at her with a smile - one she is biting her lip to keep from growing, the younger woman can tell. </p><p> </p><p>"What?" Villanelle asks, returning the smile subconsciously, before turning the key in the ignition. </p><p> </p><p>"You can drive this thing?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve, it is one of the <em>many </em>things I can do." She tosses a wink in Eve's direction, before putting the truck into drive, and pulling onto the road. </p><p> </p><p>Eve just rolls her eyes, sinking into her seat, and grabbing the paper cup from her side of the holder. "Thanks for the coffee," she mutters, and when it is not a request to <em>stop the car, I've changed my mind</em>, Villanelle just relishes in that same victorious feeling. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They make it about ten minutes before Villanelle has to swat Eve's hand away from changing the radio station. An 80's throwback station, currently playing <em>I Wanna Dance With Somebody</em>by <em>Whitney Houston</em>, that Eve had the <em>audacity </em>to try to silence. </p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs, when Villanelle's fingers collides with hers, but the older woman just lets her hand fall back in her lap, before asking, "What ever happened to shotgun gets to control the radio?" </p><p> </p><p>"That is a stupid rule." Villanelle remarks, hypocritically.</p><p> </p><p>She always takes control of the radio station when Konstantin is driving - but that is because she can not stand to hear the older man try to croak along to Elvis Presley or Johnny Cash. It was not meant for a Russian tongue, especially when that tongue belongs to a man who is as tone-deaf as he is tasteless. </p><p> </p><p>"Plus, I thought you would like the 80s station." Villanelle adds, "I mean, you were alive when these songs came out. That should bring some nostalgia, no?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve groans, letting her head fall to rest against the passenger window, "Thanks for reminding me." She pauses before adding, "This song was released in '87. Long before you were conceived. You probably weren't even a <em>thought </em>yet."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs, keeping her eyes on the road, when she takes a sip from her latte. </p><p> </p><p>"No," she swallows, setting the cup back into its holder, "I was never a thought, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can see Eve raised an intrigue eyebrow from her periphery.</p><p> </p><p>"I was a.. <em>happy</em> surprise." </p><p> </p><p>She smirks as she relays it, as if the curve of her mouth can bend the words into something truthful. Something undeniable. Something that doesn't allow Eve to feel the weight of her mother's truth resting on her shoulders. That she was never wanted, not from the moment she took up residency in her mother's stomach, and certainly never after she came to exist in the world - crying, and wailing, and ultimately ignored by her mother's hands. </p><p> </p><p>The inadvertent mention of anything family-related looms like a veil over the interior of the truck. Her fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter, in anticipation, but she is surprised when Eve just hums before fixing her gaze on the passing scenery. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They make it a quiet twenty-minutes, aside from <em>Toto </em>now playing through the speakers, before Eve finally succumbs to her curiosity. Villanelle felt it coming - knew it from the moment she saw Eve fidgeting with the latch on the glove compartment, and the younger woman is surprised that she is the one who has to break the silence.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like something akin to pity - watching Eve force herself into an unfamiliar quietness. </p><p> </p><p>So when she says, "I can hear you thinking from here, Eve", she know's it a dangerous opening. Something akin to putting her finger on a trigger of loaded gun.</p><p> </p><p>But she does not know what is worse. Taking mercy on Eve who is trying desperately to keep probing questions from falling out of her mouth, or allowing the silence even if it suffocating. She is sure she is about to find out. </p><p> </p><p>Eve lets her hand fall away from the latch, lets her head fall against the headrest with a sigh, "Sorry. I'm.. sorry." </p><p> </p><p>Eve must be tenser than she realized - <em>apologizing</em> on her own accord. </p><p> </p><p>"Whatever you want to ask, just.. ask it." Villanelle offers with a shrug, that reads a little too much like a <em>Let's get this over with, </em>for the lack of nonchalance that usually comes with such a statement. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't even know where to start," Eve admits, letting her hands fall against her thighs, and her palms face upwards as she turns her head to look at Villanelle.</p><p> </p><p>That is also.. <em>new</em>. Eve is full of starting points, with no end in sight. Full of questions, but little answers. </p><p> </p><p>The younger woman is happy to have a reason to keep her eyes fixed on the road. She wonders what it would be like to look at Eve head-on right now; what the open, probing, curiosity of her eyes would elicit from Villanelle. It is the nature of those eyes that makes this such a dangerous situation. Being trapped in a car with anybody else who dare ask her questions would be a less daunting feat if it was not Eve. She could bullshit her way through it, throw in a few laughs, and all would be well and good by the time they reached their destination. But such is not the case. No, with Eve - she wants to be honest; wants to give her things, and that is why the anxiety lurching in her stomach has been promoted from <em>infrequent visitor </em>to <em>a houseguest that has overstayed their welcome</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle exhales deeply, letting her eyes take in the scenery of the passing trees - a mix of yellow and greens. The yellow deadness that winter brings is quickly being overpowered by the green liveliness that spring births, and she thinks it's a good metaphor for what she feels inside of her currently.</p><p> </p><p>When the breath finally leaves her lips, she finds a starting place for Eve.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I think about what you're wearing, and what you're doing while you're working.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>I dress the same when I'm working as I do when I am not. Within reason, of course. I will not wear a Tulle dress if I am going to be moving furniture around, because it is not practical. But to answer your question, Eve, yes I <em>do </em>always look this good."</p><p> </p><p>She keeps her eyes pointed fixedly on the road ahead, but she can see Eve's forehead crease in confusion for from her periphery. </p><p> </p><p>She continues, "What I <em>do </em>while I'm working looks very similar to what you saw, when you came to Carolyn's house. Lots of internet scouring. Lots of phone calls. Lots of negotiating with arrogant designers. Boring stuff," she shrugs, "but I get to do stuff like this, too. Drive out of town to look at very old pieces of wood. Lucky for you, you get to come along." </p><p> </p><p>She chances a glance at Eve, just in time to watch the older woman's eyebrows unknit into an expression of realization; of surprise. Villanelle wonders if its surprise at her answering Eve's questions without being prompted, or the fact that she remembers the desperate monologue Eve had given her in her apartment only a few nights prior.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle could not forget it, even if she tried. It is a very unfortunate thing.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's lips part slightly, and her voice is soft when she asks, "<em>Boring</em>? I thought you liked your job because it's not..boring." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, as she considers her answer, "The outcome is never boring. It is always worth it. But there are aspects of it that are boring - the.. <em>technical </em>stuff. I'm sure it is the same with your journalism, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>"There's not really a chance to be bored with journalism. More like.. annoyed. With the technical stuff, I guess, like you said. Lots of phone calls. Thousands of emails."</p><p> </p><p>A small smile graces Eve's lips as she speaks about it, and Villanelle recognizes the yearning laced in her tone. The blonde thinks its interesting how she has always heard it come out when Eve has spoken about her previous job - but never about her previous marriage. She wonders if Eve will talk more about this.</p><p> </p><p>But, Eve doesn't say anything further. It is clear the woman's current intent is to not talk about herself when Villanelle notices the older Eve's eyes are lingering on her, heavily. Eve is cashing in on her side of the deal, and it is only fair, so she continues. She adjusts in her seat, letting one hand rest on the lower part of the steering while, while the other rests against the windowsill. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I think about who you call when you take your lunch break. I think about what friends you have in Paris, or London, or New York. I think about if you even have people you consider friends. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle chews on her lip, considering what constitutes her definition of <em>friend</em>. She figures that if she were to try to provide Eve with a list of woman she has had sex with <em>more than once</em>, the older woman would not accept it as such. Villanelle hums quietly. </p><p> </p><p>"I do not call anybody when I take my lunch break. I value my time, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>Eve raises her eyebrows at that, and a skeptical smile pulls at her lips, "You <em>literally </em>text me the whole time you are working."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs, "You are a special case, Eve. Very annoying. Very distracting. It is a nice break from staring at my computer screen for hours on end." </p><p> </p><p>"So what you're saying is you <em>use </em>me to get away from work obligations?" Eve scoffs.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle smiles, and Eve rolls her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She taps the steering wheel before continuing, "If I do have to talk to somebody on my lunch break, it is Konstantin, which I guess bleeds into your other question. Konstantin is probably the closest thing I have to a.. <em>friend</em>, in your standards."</p><p> </p><p>Or Kenny, maybe, but Villanelle hasn't yet decided if he has made the cut. It has been two years. The title of friend takes careful consideration.</p><p> </p><p>"Your boss?" Eve's scoffs. "If your boss is the closest thing to a friend you have, by my standards, then I am very curious to know what <em>your </em>standards are."</p><p> </p><p>"There is a woman in Paris that I have slept with more than three times. She is very generous. Generosity is a nice quality in a friend, no?" Villanelle waggles her eyebrows at Eve, and the older woman just rolls her eyes so far into head, Villanelle is surprised her irises don't disappear completely. "See, I knew you would not count it." </p><p> </p><p>"Seriously though, your <em>boss</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"Isn't Elena like your best friend, Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>"..Yes?"</p><p> </p><p>"And you are her boss." Villanelle offers, simply, obviously.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, but that doesn't - I wasn't her boss.." Eve sputters, before collapsing into her seat with defeat. She crosses her arms over her chest before muttering, "Whatever. Just tell me about Konstantin." </p><p> </p><p>It is weird to hear Eve says Konstantin's name. It feels like an intersection; an intimate one. Two very separates parts of her life touching - meeting in the middle of a place that should not exist. </p><p> </p><p>"He is very old, and very grumpy." Eve's mouth forms a silent surprised O, and Villanelle wonders if she had imagined Konstantin as some cheeky thirty year-old designer. It is a laughable image. "Russian, too. There are not many Russians working in Interior Design in the states, which is probably why he took an immediate liking to me. Aside from the fact that I am <em>very </em>likable. Irresistible, really.."</p><p> </p><p>Eve swats at her arm, but she doesn't tell Villanelle to <em>shut up</em>, or <em>get on with it</em>. When Villanelle chances a glance at Eve, it's because her expression is enraptured. She is hanging on the blonde's every word, over something as silly as her relationship with her boss. <em>Friend. </em>Whatever. It is almost shocking the extent to which Eve is very curious, about everything, it seems.</p><p> </p><p>If curiosity killed the cat, and the cat has nine lives, Eve must have twenty. </p><p> </p><p>It is with this realization that Villanelle knows she will not be able to give Eve some watered-down version of her relationship with Konstantin. However, she will also not be able to give Eve a run-down of her six-year relationship with the man, over the extent of a two-hour car ride. </p><p> </p><p>These two truths existing leaves Villanelle feeling a bit perplexed about where to start, but she figures that is probably a good enough indicator that she should probably start at the beginning. Not the actual beginning, but the beginning where Oksana ceased to exist, and Villanelle began.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, settling into her seat, and starts. She wonders if the tenseness of her jaw will implicate words coming out of her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"I left my family's home when I was sixteen. I picked up, and moved to Moscow. I did not bring anything aside from a knapsack and my passport. I spent a year on the streets, trying to.. what is the saying in English? <em>Get my feet on the ground</em>. Make money."</p><p> </p><p><em>Make meaning, out of my shit little life</em>, is what Villanelle decides to omit.</p><p> </p><p>She watches as Eve raises an eyebrow from her periphery; watches as Eve's fingers tighten around her coffee cup. She seriously hopes that Eve is not already having a reaction to the tales of Villanelle's misspent youth. It is much too early for that.</p><p> </p><p>"It was during that year that I realized that I was very good at.. making connections." Her accent curls around the words, as she relays them, carefully. "That I was good at.. <em>people</em>. Knowing what makes them tick. Knowing what draws them in. Knowing how to get.. <em>things </em>from them."</p><p> </p><p>"I don't even know if I should ask what that entails." Eve mutters slowly, but the pure desire in her eyes speaks otherwise, so it is no surprise, when she follows up with a, "What <em>exactly </em>did that entail?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle chuckles, shaking her head at Eve's quick submission to her curiosities, "All kinds of things. I would steal Soviet memorabilia from markets and sell them to tourists at triple the price. One time I sold a Matryoshka doll for 3,800 rubies."</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks at her, confusedly - obviously unfamiliar with Russian currency.</p><p> </p><p>"Fifty dollars." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Wow</em>." Eve's eyebrows raise at that, and Villanelle is surprised when the older woman's expression looks more.. <em>impressed</em>, than condemning.</p><p> </p><p>It calms an anxiety in the blonde's heart - not knowing what Eve would make of her life, not that she cared what people thought of her or what she had to do to get to where she is, but she does care what Eve thinks. A little bit. Eve is an asshole, in many ways, but she is understanding where it matters most. It motivates her to continue.</p><p> </p><p>"I did other things, too. I sold drugs, briefly. Sometimes, I accompanied lonely old men to dinner, for the right price. But it was easiest to take advantage of tourists. Selling them things, or sometimes.." Villanelle straightens her posture, and lets her accent take on the tone of polished British school-girl, "I'm <em>so </em>sorry to bother you, sir, but my wallet got stolen and I can't get back to the hotel my family is staying at in Kolomna. I really do hate to ask but could you spare 2,500 rubies for the taxi?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth drops open at the sudden change in inflection, and she just laughs, in disbelief before stating, "Wow. God, that's.. <em>impressive</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow - because Eve doesn't mention anything about the drug-selling, or the old men. No, she only compliments Villanelle's ability to manipulate. It is interesting that she has felt heavily scrutinized by Eve, for things like being rude and being rich, but she currently feels entirely accepted by the older woman, over things like hustling and stealing. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps, Eve was right about the shit stink thing. In as many ways as they try to put distance between one another, they seem to understand each other, more often than they'd care to admit.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's forehead creases, and she lets her shoulders deflate back into a slouched position, before she continues. </p><p> </p><p>"Anyways. By the end of that year, I was seventeen and I had scrounged up enough money to get a really <em>shit </em>apartment in the outskirts of the city. I had decided that I wanted to.. make something of myself. I applied to the University of Moscow, to study business." Villanelle shrugs, as she feels the weight of Eve's skeptical stare, "It made the most sense, at the time, given how easy it seemed.. to <em>swindle </em>people."</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods, in understanding, before Villanelle adds,</p><p> </p><p>"I only lasted two semesters before I switched to <em>Interior Design</em>." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses to take a sip of her latte, because her throat is a little dry. She does not remember the last time she talked this much, at once. Her throat is also dry because this is the part in the story where she's supposed to reveal what happened after she switched majors. The part in the story where she is supposed to tell Eve about her year-long affair with her professor, and what gave her the motivation to flee Russia, completely. But she is not talking about Anna right now - in fact, she forgot what question she was even answering in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, Konstantin. <em>Right</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She sets her coffee cup back down in the holder, before adjusting to put both of her hands on the steering wheel, "After I finished my first year in Moscow, I applied for an exchange program for my second-year. I got accepted, so I packed my bags and moved to New York. I knew that I did not want to come back, but it is <em>very </em>hard to stay on a F-1 Visa."</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods, grunting in agreement.</p><p> </p><p>"You know about this?" She asks, confusedly, because Eve was born in Pennsylvania.</p><p> </p><p>"Not first-hand," Eve corrects. "But my parents immigrated from Korea before I was born. It took them five years to get their green cards." </p><p> </p><p>"Ah," Villanelle accepts. "Yes, they do not make it.. <em>easy</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle makes a mental note to ask Eve more about this later, before she continues. </p><p> </p><p>"I applied to.. maybe, a hundred internships. It is hard in your second year. Most design firms are looking for students about to graduate, but my portfolio was.. immaculate." Eve scoffs, and Villanelle rolls her eyes, "I am not being boastful, Eve. I am just good at what I do. That is how I landed an internship with Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle chuckles. She remembers getting the call vividly, remembers her shock at the sound of Konstantin's accent coming through the speaker, "I had no idea that he was a designer from St. Petersburg, and he had no idea that I was Russian. His assistant picked my application. It was.. <em>happen-stance</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Happen-stance. It is a funny word. She heard Kenny use it once when he ran into Audrey at a  bar after work, one night. She has thought about it many times since then. Like meeting Eve when she was trying to get into another woman's pants. <em>Happen-stance</em>. It is a silly word with little meaning. Not a silly word with big meaning. Like, fate. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That's fate, love!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Elena's words echo in her head. Elena, who threw it around so carelessly, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand. As if it existed, without question. Something about it had chilled Villanelle. As if the mere idea of fate existing was enough to scare her into a corner. Fate is ambiguous, all-encapsulating, impossible to understand. But happen-stance; <em>coincidence</em>.. these are much easier for Villanelle to stomach. </p><p> </p><p>"So, you were able to stay because of the internship?" Eve asks, curiously.</p><p> </p><p>"No," Villanelle shakes her head softly, puling her head from her thoughts. "You can only stay on an internship for so long. Konstantin and I.. have an odd relationship. He is very annoying." She pauses before adding, "Even more annoying than you, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve swats her arm hard enough for her to feign injury. </p><p> </p><p>She gasps, "I am driving, Eve!"</p><p> </p><p>"Get on with it, asshole." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fine</em>." Villanelle huffs. "He is annoying.. but he is good at what he does. I respected his work, and he respected mine. He offered me a job by the end of my second-year, so that I could stay. It is basically unheard of. Design students usually don't land jobs until after graduation." </p><p> </p><p>"Did you stay in school?" Eve asks, fingers tracing the lid of her coffee cup.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle replies, lowly. "Konstantin and I.. work well together, we always have, but that does not mean I had total faith in him to keep me around. I knew that I still needed a degree, in case I needed to find work.. <em>elsewhere</em>. It was the busiest two years of my life, but it was fine. I wanted to be busy."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I wanted to forget about the life I left in Russia.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Guess Konstantin kept you around, after all." Eve offers, with a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just shakes her head, smirking, "<em>Please</em>. That man would not know what to do without me."</p><p> </p><p>It is funny how words do not have to be spoken - but you can still feel them lingering, silent and weighted, like a quiet missile waiting to explode once it makes contact with the ground. She knows Eve is ruminating on her lack of confidence in Konstantin keeping her around, her lack of confidence in Konstantin.. not abandoning her. It remains unspoken when Eve rephrases it, in her next question. </p><p> </p><p>Eve's voice is so quiet, that Villanelle has to focus to hear it, when she asks, "Can I.. ask about your dad?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's fingers tighten around the steering wheel so severely, that she is surprised that her knuckles don't break through the flesh. Her eyes glaze over, fixed on the grey blur of passing pavement, and she inhales, deeply. Inhales, to remind herself that she is in a body. Inhales, to remind herself that she does not have answer what she does not want to. Inhales, to remind herself that she is far away from Russia and family traumas. Inhales to remind herself that she is safe, in a truck, with Eve, who is <em>asking </em>if she can ask.</p><p> </p><p>That is a new development.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, silently appreciative, and silently willing. So, she tries. Tries to find another beginning.</p><p> </p><p>"My dad was an artist. He painted, mostly.. but he loved poetry. He was very.. mm, <em>sensitive</em> in that way. Poet's heart, and what not." Villanelle chuckles, quietly, but the sound doesn't leave her throat. "Which is funny that he married my mom, because she is, very much, the opposite." She pauses, trying to find the right words to explain her mother,</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, pragmatic." <em>Evil</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Logical, you could say." <em>Evil</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Insensitive, is probably the most fitting, here." <em>Evil</em>. <em>Pure fucking evil.</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, exhaling to sturdy herself, before continuing.</p><p> </p><p>"He was a good man, but he lived with his heart. It is a dangerous thing to do - to feel everything, to welcome everything with open arms. To suffer, willingly. It will kill you, if you're not careful."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses, allows herself one last breath,</p><p> </p><p>"And it did." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's breath stills, and Villanelle's vision blurs a bit at the edges. She unflexes her hands from the steering wheel, only to grip it tighter. She can feel the hardness of it digging into her palms - she wished the material wasn't a smooth leather, she wished it was a spiked metal. She wishes she could cut her hands on it. She wishes she could feel it. </p><p> </p><p>"He killed himself when I was thirteen."</p><p> </p><p>It always happens very fast - leaving Villanelle with little time to respond, before her body does. She closes her eyes, shuts them as tightly as she can, and she expects Eve to throw herself across the middle seat - to grasp the wheel in her hands, and berate her for closing her eyes while she's <em>fucking </em>driving. But she can't open them, just yet - can't allow herself to take in the scenery of passing trees, can't allow herself to take in the sight of a panicked Eve, can't allow herself to be reminded yet again that she lives in a world that her father is not a part of.</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't grasp the wheel. In fact, Eve doesn't say a word. She just feels a soft weight rest on her thigh - and it starts to move. It is so light, it feels like a feather swirling in circles around her skin. When she opens her eyes to look down, Eve's hand is there. It rubs gentle circles into Villanelle's thigh - a touch that radiates warmth through the fabric of her jeans. </p><p> </p><p>It places her. Reminds her where she is.</p><p> </p><p>She swallows, the ice in her throat melting into a liquid, and when she glances at Eve - the older woman is looking at her with open eyes. Big and understanding, warm with appreciation, but warmer with affection. </p><p> </p><p>It places her. Reminds her she's safe where she is.</p><p> </p><p>"He sounds like an extraordinary person." Eve states, softly, firmly - her voice a replication of the gentle circles she's rubbing into Villanelle's thigh. "It sounds like you're a lot like him."</p><p> </p><p>She suddenly wishes that Eve had settled for rubbing small, silent, circles into Villanelle's leg. She suddenly wishes that Eve did not decide to speak, to open her mouth at an attempt at comfort, but she did. She did, and it is the straw the breaks the camel's back. </p><p> </p><p>As soon as Villanelle feels the wetness gather in the corner of her eyes, she feels it on her cheeks, too. She removes one hand from the steering wheel to wipe at them, but Eve catches her wrist. She looks at her, confusedly, but then Eve just scoots into the middle seat, and accepts an unspoken duty. She wipes Villanelle tears away - carefully, precisely - like somebody picking flecks of gold out of a bucket of sand. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is powerless to fight it. Not with the way she's currently being looked at. The way Eve is looking at her, soft eyes from her periphery, is enough to instill a younger woman with a confidence that Eve actually <em>believes</em> what she just said. </p><p> </p><p>Eve believes that she holds the goodness of her father; believes it enough that Villanelle doesn't have the heart to tell her that she is actually a lot more like her mother. She doesn't have the heart to tell Eve that she is a lot more like her mother, who's abuse was so insidious, that it drove her father to his death. She doesn't have the heart to tell Eve this because she does not <em>have </em>her father's heart.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't have the heart to tell her that her father left two notes with his death, one marked to Villanelle that said:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You have not lost me. You always carry me with you, as I always carry you with me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Be good, my girl. I love you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>One marked to her mother, that said:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Be good to our girl.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't have the heart to tell Eve that her mother blamed her for her father's death every week until she picked up, and left. She doesn't have the heart to tell Eve that the only times she has known love, she has known loss. She doesn't have the heart to tell Eve that she has never been <em>good</em>, and that is her way of cursing her father for leaving her.</p><p> </p><p>What she does tell Eve, is some condensed version of all of these things - a string of a sentence that encapsulates all of their truths. Her breath is shaky, and the words try their best to be firm - but whatever strength Villanelle is using to glue them together is doing a shitty job, and they hang together - messily and unstitched. </p><p> </p><p>"You know what's funny? I think it is my dad that fucked me up. More than my mom."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's fingers still, stop rubbing circles into her thigh, and the lack of movement is enough to think she should glue her lips together; not let another word out. But they've been pried open, the glue bottle out of reach, and so, the words spill out.</p><p> </p><p>"I never felt love from my mother. It is fine. It was something I could understand, or.. <em>recognize </em>at least - the feeling of absence. But I felt love from my father every day. I could not ignore the presence of it. Mm, sometimes, I think that fucked me up more."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hiccups. Eve waits; becomes an image of unfamiliar patience.</p><p> </p><p>"Sometimes, I think I would have been better off if I had never felt that love. If I had only felt my mother's absence, then I would have nothing to compare it to. I would be fine, probably." A laugh escapes her lips, cold and humorless. "But because of my father, I have to spend the rest of my life knowing that it exists. Chasing.. <em>something. I </em>would not feel that pull to chase something if I had no knowledge of its existence."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hiccups again.</p><p> </p><p>When she finally allows herself to glance at Eve from her periphery, she watches as silent battle takes place on Eve's face. The woman's face is twisted in a show of strength - eyes watery, but she dare not lets her tears fall while Villanelle's are - and her jaw is tense, <em>pained</em>. She recognizes something twisted in Eve's features - maybe a desperation; a feeling of not being able to touch something because it is out of your control.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hates to see it.</p><p> </p><p>"Too much?" She asks; another watery, humorless laugh leaves her lips. </p><p> </p><p>"No." Eve replies, immediately, firmly.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you think I'm fucked up, Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve hesitates, and Villanelle can hear the older woman's words in her head before she speaks them life. Eve is honest, painfully so - so she knows she won't pussyfoot around the truth of Villanelle's character, but she'll do it gracefully. Villanelle waits for a <em>we're all fucked up, Villanelle </em>or maybe just a <em>yes, but that's fine</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"You are.. so many things." Eve starts, slowly; carefully. Villanelle laughs, because it is a smart way to answer - something she expected from the older woman. But then Eve continues, and her voice becomes a river of quiet calm, something she didn't know ran through Eve, "I think that we all carry our parent's scars. It's just that most of us tend to become them."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's hand fans out, her fingers spread to grip Villanelle's thigh gently, "Maybe you are a product of your father's love and your mother's lack of, sure. We're all a product of our parents. But you are.. so much more than that, Villanelle. You are in front of me, and I see.. an overwhelming combination of things. Fucked up? Maybe a little. But that's not what I see, when I look at you. What I see is.. an extraordinary person. Full of love, and full of strength, and full of.. <em>change</em>. I don't see your mother or your father, because I don't know them. I do know you, though, and that's what I see. I just see.. <em>you</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's body goes into autopilot. She's thankful for it - thankful to not do something as reckless as closing her eyes while she's driving, or sob at the wheel, at Eve's expense. She can't feel her hands against the steering wheel, but she registers the movement as they pull it slightly to the right, guiding the clunky box truck to a slow halt on the side of the road. </p><p> </p><p>She hiccups, again.</p><p> </p><p>And then, she sobs.</p><p> </p><p>They are no longer quiet tears making quick escapes from the corners of her eyes. They have transformed into something loud, and unpleasant, and her body shakes with the movement of them. She has no choice but to let it happen - not because she is not willing to fight, but because she is helpless to make it stop now that it has started. She tries to maintain a perfect ignorance of Eve - but she can't, not when Eve just sits with her, quietly, pushing away the strands of hair that get stuck to the wetness of her cheeks. She cries, and <em>cries</em>, until she can't measure how much time has passed. She cries until she can feel her hands again. She cries until the tears stop coming. </p><p> </p><p>And they do, eventually, <em>stop</em> coming. When they do, Eve doesn't move from the middle seat. Instead, she lets the very hand, that had been wiping them away as they fell, fall back to rest on Villanelle's thigh. It is a powerful hand - one that says, <em>I'm right here</em>. And while she can't trust it, she does feel the weight of it. It encourages her to be <em>right here </em>too.</p><p> </p><p>"Just so you know," Villanelle voice's breaks a little, as it reemerges, "Konstantin is not a father figure to me. He is a friend - an annoying one, yes, but the closest one I have. I do not have.. <em>daddy issues</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, at that - her hand gripping at Villanelle's thigh, with the movement.</p><p> </p><p>So, Villanelle laughs too. It is watery, and a little hiccupy - but freeing. A pop of the devastating bubble they have been residing in. </p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't say anything after that, but she doesn't move from her place at Villanelle's side, either. She is close enough that Villanelle's eyes don't have to stray far from the place their fixed on the windshield to see Eve's expression from her periphery, pensive and contemplative. She wonders if Eve is figuring out how to ask her next question - if she's going to ask about her mother, or Anna, or whatever the <em>fuck </em>is left on the list. She would welcome it, actually. She can talk about her mother or Anna, without spurring such an intense.. <em>reaction</em>. There would be no tears, and she could give that information to Eve calmly; collectedly. It shouldn't surprise her - Eve is a force of unpredictability, after all - that the first question out of the older woman's mouth was the one that reduces her to nothing more than a frail child. She waits for a chance at redemption; waits for Eve to ask.</p><p> </p><p>It never comes, and they just sit in silence in the car, for a long time. Eve had turned down the radio as soon as they pulled over, so the only sound in the car is faint hum of white noise, the passing vibrations of trucks, the occasional sniffle; the residual hiccup. </p><p> </p><p>Minutes pass - many of them, Villanelle is sure - but the silence remains unchanged. She never asks Villanelle how long until she's ready to drive, or whether she wants Eve to drive instead. She never says anything; she just sits with her, quietly (which the blonde didn't know she was capable of) and patiently (which she also did not know Eve was capable of). The subtle warmth of Eve's side, pressed every so slightly into Villanelle's, helps the blonde's shoulders to stop shaking. It helps the blonde's breathing to even again. </p><p> </p><p>When she is ready, and her cheeks are no longer wet, she takes one last long inhale before putting the truck into drive and pulling back onto the road. Eve slowly moves from the middle seat, and back into the passenger seat - and Villanelle briefly entertains the idea of crying again just to eradicate the absence of her warmth. She could definitely muster up a few more tears. But she doesn't, because she's not a child anymore. And she doesn't, because she finds that she can still feel Eve's warmth lingering on her, two seats away from her. </p><p> </p><p>They drive quietly, after that. Villanelle keeps her eyes fixed on the road - watching as the passing green soon soon starts to blend in shades of white, snow-topped trees, and slush on the ground, as they slowly climb in elevation towards Bolton. Eve watches too, from her window, and her face remains a careful concoction of pensiveness. <em>Unreadable</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wants to be stronger than the subtle ball of anxiety that rests warm in her stomach, but she isn't. She's never as strong as she wants to be after rubbing herself raw; after she lets vulnerability seep through the cracks in her exterior that she has carefully cemented. </p><p> </p><p>Eve's silence doesn't feel bad, no, not at all - but Villanelle's body pushes her to believe that there is a small chance it could be. That she may have shared a little too much, pushed Eve out of her comfort zone, and over the edge to a place that is unreachable. If she could hear her voice, maybe it would allow her to calm; to know that Eve is still reachable; still here with her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I think about what you order what you eat when you order room service at your hotel. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>Waffles." Villanelle states, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Eve turns to look at her, slowly, and asks, "What?"</p><p> </p><p>"Waffles." Villanelle tries, again. "It is what I order from room service, most often."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's lips curls into a small smile, but her eyes relax into something different - something soft, something solemn. She shakes her head, with a soft, "Don't.. do that."</p><p> </p><p>"Order waffles?" Villanelle asks, incredulously, her voice still a little hoarse, "They are the best part of room service. The Belgian Waffles with the strawberries and whipped cream. You do know what I'm talking about, yes?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Eve chuckles, quietly, still shaking her head, "I know about the fucking waffles. Just, don't.. feel like you need to answer any more questions, or fill the silence, or..", Eve gesticulates with her hand, "<em>whatever </em>it is you're feeling inclined to do right now."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's forehead creases, pulling her eyes away from the road to look at the older woman, "I thought you wanted to know these things, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>"I do, I just.." Eve sighs, before turning in her seat so her body is facing Villanelle's. She restarts. "I do, but there's time, Villanelle. When I said I wanted to know you, I meant the questions, sure. But I also just meant.. <em>this</em>." Eve gestures between them, as if that's supposed to clear up whatever she's trying to say, but Villanelle lips pull into a subtle, confused frown.</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, mouth opening in attempt to clarify, and her eyes hold a sober gratitude when she speaks again, "Thank you for telling me all of that, Villanelle. Seriously. I can't tell you how much it meant to me. It was.. more than enough. But, believe it or not, I don't just want answers from you.  I also just want to spend.. time with you."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>"Time that doesn't always have to end in yelling, or some varying state of distress." Eve supplies, with a shrug. "The quiet is nice, sometimes."</p><p> </p><p>"I did not know you were capable of being quiet, Eve." Villanelle chides.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if the smirk conceals the shock that she experiences at her core as she continues to learn all the curves of Eve's - especially the gentle ones. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, well. I can say the same about you."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, letting her shoulders fall against the seat. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts, "I also did not know we were capable of spending time together that did not end in yelling."</p><p> </p><p>Or tears, <em>apparently</em>, but she doesn't feel keen to add that one to the list. </p><p> </p><p>Eve shrugs, letting her eyes fix back on the passing scenery, "It's good to try new things."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, softly. </p><p> </p><p>"The quiet is nice, sometimes." </p><p> </p><p>She echoes Eve's statement, because she agrees. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They arrive at the antique store less than twenty minutes later. It is an old, brick building - yellow paint chipping away, large windows tinted with a cloudy film, and a big white sign with blue lettering that reads <em>Blackwell's Antiques</em>. </p><p> </p><p>They hop out of truck, and Villanelle opens the latch on the back of the truck. They don't even have the chance to enter the store before a silver-haired man wearing a form-fitting suit, and large black rimmed glasses is coming out to meet them. He smiles wildly, holding his hand out, "Hello! Are you Villanelle?" </p><p> </p><p>"In the flesh." Villanelle smirks, shaking his hand.</p><p> </p><p>"Lovely to meet you. I'm Paul. We spoke on the phone." </p><p> </p><p>She lets her eyes take in the refined style of the man. He fits the image of an antique collector, through and through, but not one you would see in some small-town in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania. He looks pretentious enough to fit in New York, or suave enough to sell in Berlin. <em>Definitely </em>gay enough to sell in Berlin. </p><p> </p><p>Her thought process is interrupted when he holds his arm out to Eve, who is now standing at her side. "And this is?"</p><p> </p><p>"Eve." The older woman supplies, and she offers him as a smile as she shakes his hand. "I'm Villanelle's.. <em>friend</em>. Just along for the ride." </p><p> </p><p>The word sounds awkward enough coming out of Eve's mouth to warrant a cocked eyebrow from Paul. He looks between the two of them, mischievously. Villanelle has to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the confused expression Eve wears. </p><p> </p><p>"The Irving is inside. Let's have a look, shall we?" Paul asks, jovially. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods. She follows the man inside the store, while Eve treks along at her side - obviously still confused. She almost feels bad for the woman; it must be hard lacking the gay sixth sense when she is obviously pretty.. <em>gay</em>. </p><p> </p><p>The interior of the shop is reminiscent to exterior. Aged, but inviting. There are vintage knick-knacks lining the shelves, stacks and stacks of records stored in milk cartons, and furniture pushed into every corner. It is hard to navigate - Villanelle has to zig-zag to walk even a few feet - but she knows that these are the types of places that always have the most finds. Lacking in organization, but overflowing in hidden treasures. </p><p> </p><p>The bookcase is positioned in the center of the floor, and Villanelle eyes latch on to it immediately. "Do you mind?" She asks Paul, already prowling towards it, like a cat stalking its prey. Except the prey has already been bought, but she is ready to ask for a refund if there is so much as a chip in the exterior. </p><p> </p><p>"Not at all." Paul dismisses with a wave.</p><p> </p><p>Eve comes to stand next to him, but she can feel the older woman's eyes on her as she runs her fingers along the wood. She crouches, inspecting the corners closely, while Eve and Paul take to talking. </p><p> </p><p>"So, are you from around here?" He asks, politely.</p><p> </p><p>"Not.. really. I live in Franklin." Eve offers the words clumsily, as if she still can't believe it when she speaks them, even though she has lived there nearly a year now.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I get to Franklin every now and again. What do you down there?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle brings herself back to a standing position, after running her hands along the underside of the wood, and finding no scratches or chips. She backs up a few steps, cocking her head as she observes the height and width of it, imaging it against the walls of Carolyn's living room. She speculated from the pictures, but it is always a different experience in person. She has to ensure it is perfect.</p><p> </p><p>"I run a bar. <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>. You probably haven't heard of it. It's pretty divey-"</p><p> </p><p>"My God! I love <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>. I haven't been in ages. I didn't know it was still running. I was devastated to hear about Bill's passing. I figured it was done, after that. Did you know him?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve stutters, "Uh.."</p><p> </p><p>The slight inflection of distress in the older woman's voice is enough for Villanelle to cut her inspection short. She paints a grin on her face, before turning around, and holding her arms out, "I'll take it! Beautiful piece, Paul. Perfect, really."</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, the man's attention is enraptured by Villanelle. Eve takes the moment of diversion to exhale, and Villanelle watches as her shoulders relax. </p><p> </p><p>Paul clasps his hands together, smiling, "Wonderful news! I'll have a couple of my guys come upstairs to load it for you. Feel free to look around, if you'd like!" </p><p> </p><p>Paul heads downstairs, and Villanelle and Eve share in a shrug before slowly turning to trek through the store. Eve gravitates towards the knick-knacks, picking up little figurines and turning them in her hands, while Villanelle gravitates towards the furniture. It is a stark transition - to go from sobbing in the truck with Eve, to meandering through a random antique store together. But Villanelle feels light, clearheaded - her body is not heavy with weight that is usually holds after she cries, and she feels grateful. It is easier to collect herself in a different environment - one that does not allow her to entertain regrets, or fixation, too long. It is easier to just let herself.. <em>be</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She cocks her eyebrow when her eyes stumble upon a set of Chalrton vintage upholstered dining chairs, in dark oak - nearly the same color as the bookcase, and in similar perfect condition. It seems too good to be true. </p><p> </p><p>"Eve." She calls out, and the older woman responds with a quiet <em>hm</em>?, "Come here."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes?" Eve reappears from around the corner, and Villanelle gestures to one of the chairs.</p><p> </p><p>"Can you sit on one of those?" </p><p> </p><p>"Why?"</p><p> </p><p>"Eve, can you do anything without asking questions?"</p><p> </p><p>The older woman grunts, annoyedly, but she complies. She steps around Villanelle to sit herself in one of the chairs, offering a raised eyebrow that looks a lot like a <em>What now? </em></p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>What do you think? Is it comfortable?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah? It's fine."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fine</em>, Eve?" Villanelle tuts, rephrasing her question, "Is it comfortable enough to sit in for three hours, around a dining table, while an older British woman recounts stories of the summers she spent in Moscow in the 80s?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve cocks an eyebrow, "That is.. oddly specific, but sure. It's a comfortable chair."</p><p> </p><p>"Perfect. I am going to find Paul so I can buy them." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle turns around, but Eve's voice calls after her before she can take a step. </p><p> </p><p>"Wait, Carolyn lived in Russia, too?" </p><p> </p><p>"No, she just has a weird.. fixation with Russia. I mean, she really likes me, which is not hard to understand." Eve rolls her eyes, and Villanelle shrugs before continuing, "But she talks about Vladimir Putin more than any person should. Oh, have I mentioned that she's fucking Konstantin? Or <em>was</em>, I guess."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Eve's eyes bulge. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of Paul's footsteps ascending the stairs pulls her away from Eve's shocked expression, which is fine, because she really can not bare to talk about Konstantin's sex life for more than thirty seconds at a time. </p><p> </p><p>Paul is all-too-happy to hear that she'll be tacking another $600 purchase onto her visit, and he directs the men to load up the chairs along with the bookcase. She watches from the window, ensuring that it's wrapped carefully, before its loaded, when Eve appears at her side again. Villanelle is surprised to see Eve holding two items - a dusty Blondie CD and a fishnet leg-lamp clad with a red stiletto, and a fraying lampshade.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises her eyebrows incredulously. </p><p> </p><p>"What? This will look great in the bar." She readjusts the lamp in her hands. </p><p> </p><p>"I thought you did not like 80s music." Villanelle gestures to the CD, because she was not talking about the lamp - even though the state of that thing definitely warrants a raised eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>"To be clear, I didn't say I don't like 80s music. I just don't like the stuff they play on the radio." Eve shrugs, before holding up the CD. "We can listen to this on the way back. Plus, who <em>doesn't </em>like Blondie?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs, "Idiots." </p><p> </p><p>When Paul checks them out, she has to argue with Eve to let her pay for the measly $30 purchase. Eve grumbles something about <em>gas money</em>, or <em>I didn't even pitch in for the hotel</em>, but Villanelle just rolls her eyes and throws her things onto the counter. </p><p> </p><p>Paul regards the lamp, with a chuckle. "Those lamps are always a hit with the lesbians, I swear." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't fight to hold back her smile this time. It's impossible, when Eve is stood there sputtering, opening and closing her mouth with no sound coming out. </p><p> </p><p>She finally blurts, "I'm not a lesbian!"</p><p> </p><p>Paul and Villanelle share a look.</p><p> </p><p>"Pleasure doing business with you, Paul." She states, collecting Eve's <em>lesbian</em>items into her arms, and heading towards the door. </p><p> </p><p>"Likewise. Come by, any time. I mean it!" When Eve turns away, blushing deeply, he throws Villanelle a wink from behind her back. She pretends not to see it, for Eve's sake. </p><p> </p><p>But when they hop back into the truck, Villanelle can't hold back her laugh any longer. </p><p> </p><p>Eve sulks at the sound, crossing her arms and sinking deeply into her seat. Villanelle just laughs harder. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Eve really likes skiing. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle figures this out, shortly after they get to the hotel. </p><p> </p><p>When they pulled up to the resort - a picturesque, multi-story, building with architecture reminiscent of a snow-topped log cabin - Eve wasted no time before jumping out of the truck. Villanelle feels slightly offended because Eve did not even take a moment to sit and appreciate the view, not even a <em>wow, beautiful, thank you, Villanelle, </em>before she starts banging on the back of the truck for Villanelle to open the latch. </p><p> </p><p>"Come on!" Villanelle rolls her eyes at the sound of Eve's muffled commands, before opening her door. Eve pops her head around the truck, "If we hurry and check in, we'll have enough time for a decent run before the sun sets." </p><p> </p><p><em>Oh, right</em>, Villanelle remembers as she climbs out of the drivers seat, <em>Eve has been here before</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes again - because she really did not think through the whole skiing thing, before agreeing. But Eve is looking at her - excitedly - and her cheeks are a little pink, from the now-colder climate. Her her hair hangs, wild and untamed, around her face - a stark contrast to white snow, and pale sky, and Villanelle suddenly realizes that she is having to force herself to be annoyed. It does not come easily - not when Eve looks like that. </p><p> </p><p>She feigns a grunt, before trekking over to unlatch the back, and unloading their bags and skis onto the ground. "Fine," she says, handing Eve her suitcase, "but we are eating first. I am very hungry." </p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, quietly, "Of course. You can check us in, I'll start bringing this inside."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, before heading inside the resort. The place is spacious and mostly empty, and she figures it makes sense given the fact winter is on its way out. Spring has one foot in the door, and while there is still a substantial amount of snow on the ground, it is not fresh. It is equal mixes of mush, and fluff, and she frowns a bit hoping that that Eve will be able to ski, to her heart's extent, given the non-ideal circumstances.</p><p> </p><p>God, it really is a stupid sport. It surprises her that Eve likes it - given the older woman's competitive nature, she would have taken Eve for a lover of contact sports, or something more.. <em>exciting</em>. But Eve likes many things that surprise her. Like Blondie, and small towns, and <em>her</em>. Eve <em>must </em>like Villanelle, at least a little bit, given the way she sat in the truck with her. Given the way she didn't recoil at Villanelle's tears, or pity her for the life she had left behind her in Russia. Given the way she didn't jump out of the truck and hail the first taxi back to Franklin. It is something that extends beyond curiosity, and toes a dangerous line into care.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't let herself think about it for long. </p><p> </p><p>After she checks them in, a bell-boy offers to take their luggage up to their room, so they can get something to eat. There is a small cafe attached to the lobby - one that is more windows than walls, and offers an expansive view of the snow-capped mountain. They sit in a booth near the window, after placing their orders at the counter, and Villanelle hums at the sight.</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks out the window. Villanelle looks at Eve. Unabashedly. It is the pro of being in an completely empty cafe. No passerby's to regard Villanelle as a creep for staring. The only person who can notice is Eve, but Eve doesn't notice. Or maybe she does, but she just doesn't say anything. It does not matter much, either way. Villanelle will take what she can get, and Eve is very beautiful - she deserves to be stared at the same way the people of Italy stared at Michelangelo's sculptures. </p><p> </p><p>They sit quietly until their food comes. Eve ordered a cup of tomato soup, and a BLT. Villanelle ordered something called a Club Sandwich, which she had never heard of before but it had two types of meat which is good because she is <em>very </em>hungry, and a hot chocolate. Eve spoons her soup gingerly, picks apart her sandwich with her hands and plops it into her mouth piece by piece, like a little mouse. It is cute. Villanelle does not eat this way, though - no, if Eve is a mouse, then she is something much more predatory. Something that would eat the mouse. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle eats her entire sandwich before Eve finishes her soup, and when she notices that Eve doesn't seem to be touching the other half of her BLT, she swallows her last bite before asking, "Are you going to eat that, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes bulge, "Are you serious?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just stares, unblinking.</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, pushing her plate towards Villanelle, "Have at it."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums in appreciation, before biting into Eve's sandwich, and she feels the older woman regarding her with incredulous eyes. She draws her shoulders up, managing a "<em>What</em>?" around her mouthful of food.</p><p> </p><p>"I just don't understand." Eve shakes her head, gesturing to Villanelle's body, "Where does it all go?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle grins, her cheeks still plump with food, before she swallows. Her voice is sultry when she responds, "I tend to expend a lot of energy, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve narrows her eyes, "Why do I have a feeling you're not talking about your job?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I'm <em>definitely </em>not." She winks, setting the rest of the sandwich down, before leaning back in her seat. "But my energy has remained largely.. <em>unspent</em>, since coming to Franklin. So maybe I will put on a few pounds." Villanelle shrugs, unbothered. </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows knit together, "Wait, you haven't had..?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows raise at Eve's inability to say the word, so she provides it, amusedly, "<em>Sex</em>, Eve?" She purrs. "No, I have not had sex. When would I have the time? If I am not working, I am with you." </p><p> </p><p><em>And we are definitely not having sex</em>, Villanelle doesn't add, because she doesn't need to. </p><p> </p><p>"Huh." Eve accepts, leaning back in her seat, but the crease of confusion on her forehead remains. "I guess that makes sense. I think I just figured you still saw Stephanie, or.. <em>whoever</em>." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Stephanie</em>?" Villanelle guffaws. She had not even thought of the woman since the night she met her. A beat of silence passes, before Villanelle leans forwards, letting her elbows rest on the table, "Would that bother you, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Another beat of silence. </p><p> </p><p>"No." Eve offers, impassively. Or she is trying to be impassive. Her face remains unchanged but Villanelle can see the slight tense in her jaw, the slight curl of lip, and it's enough to convince her that Eve is not exactly telling the truth. Why it would bother Eve is up to speculation, but the fact that she remains slightly bothered is non-negotiable.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, no." She answers, crossing her arms. "This may be the longest stretch of time I have gone without. It is very sad." Villanelle juts her lower lip into a pout, and Eve rolls her eyes, "What about you?"</p><p> </p><p>"What <em>about </em>me?"</p><p> </p><p>"How long has it been?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle would not be surprised if Eve has not been with anybody since her marriage. She is untouchable, in more ways than one. But she has a wild streak. Villanelle has a feeling that it just depends on the night.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, a few months." Eve squirms, uncomfortably, "Six months."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows draw together. <em>Six months? </em>Eve had been living in Franklin, at that time. It interests Villanelle because Franklin is a <em>very</em>small town. She wonders if she knows the person Eve slept with. It could have been a random bar patron but Eve is looking a little too.. <em>squirmy</em>, for that to be the case. Unless the sex was just really that bad, which is more than possible, because there aren't a lot of options.</p><p> </p><p>Elena is a <em>really </em>good friend, too good of a friend. She could imagine the younger woman's voice in her head, <em>Eve, I got you girl, don't worry about it!</em>, but she also remembers Elena mentioning something about being tragically heterosexual. And that only leaves..</p><p> </p><p><em>No</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hugo and I used to go skiing there all the time.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Hugo</em>?!" Villanelle nearly shrieks, and Eve shushes her as if there is anybody else in the cafe who could overhear them. Villanelle's mouth hangs open because, <em>No</em>. Out of all the people she could be jealous of regarding Eve - Niko, Natasha from college, even somebody with a name as stupid as fucking <em>Melvin </em>- she never could have expected to be jealous of Hugo. </p><p> </p><p>"Eve, no." Villanelle shakes her head, devastation rounding out the tone of her voice. Her ego can not afford this. "He looks like a rat."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, well, he acts like one too." Eve blows a raspberry, slouching a little further into her chair, "It was a mistake. It only happened one time. We were <em>really</em> drunk."</p><p> </p><p>"Please do not tell me it happened at this resort." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>! God, no." Eve clarifies, holding her hands up, "It was after we closed the bar one night. It had been a while and he was just.. there. It had little to do with him, and more to do with his.." Eve gestures to her lower half, but when Villanelle just quirks an eyebrow, she provides, "penis."</p><p> </p><p>Is that how Eve likes it? If that's how Eve likes it, that is no problem. She has many penises - a whole collection, of different shapes and sizes. She is sure each one is profoundly more enjoyable than.. <em>Hugo's</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, "How was it?"</p><p> </p><p>"About as disappointing as you'd imagine." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle relaxes. She didn't know she was tense in the first place. It's not that she's.. jealous. A little bit, sure, that Hugo got to see Eve with her hair splayed over a pillow, or maybe a table, or wherever they fucking did it - she does not want to think about it long. She's more devastated, than anything. Eve deserves to be fucked; cherished - throughly and fully - and she knows there is no way brunette Malfoy succeeded in fulfilling that duty. </p><p> </p><p>"Can we stop talking about my disappointing sex life, and get to skiing now, please?" Eve asks, but she's already standing up and collecting their plates. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs. She will let it go, for now. </p><p> </p><p>When she stands up and grabs her untouched hot chocolate, she has to focus on not crushing the cup in her hands. And when she doesn't, she regards it as a small success. She has to count the little ones - now that she is on a losing streak. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"You look ridiculous."</p><p> </p><p>Eve tells her as they sit on the ski lift. Villanelle is dressed in the gear she had picked out at REI - a pink one piece, with a pink helmet, and pink skis to match. Eve is dressed in whatever she found at the back of her closet - a purple puffer jacket, with black snow pants to match, a white helmet. Practical, but sinfully mismatched. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, well, at least I don't look <em>booooring</em>!" Villanelle releases the word with a yell, and smiles triumphantly when the sound echoes back to her from the tree tops. </p><p> </p><p>She is in a good mood, sitting on the lift with Eve.</p><p> </p><p>When they finally headed up to their room to change, Eve finally stopped to take in the view. Villanelle had booked them a room on the top floor. A two-bed suite, complete with a wood-burning fireplace and a mini-kitchen, and most importantly, a wall of windows that gave them an eagle eye view of the mountain. Villanelle was impressed by it, but she waited nervously for Eve to chastise her for being excessive, or for booking a master suite for one night, or just.. being <em>rich</em>, but it never came.</p><p> </p><p>No, Eve just stood in the middle of suite, amazed.</p><p> </p><p>"Wow. This is.. wow." She muttered, frozen in place, "Thank you, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>She has been in a very good mood since. One that remains untainted by skiing or gross curly-haired bartenders. One that continues to remain untainted by the fact that as soon as the lift lowers them onto the ground, her skis only make contact for a second before she falls face-first into the snow. She huffs, pushing up to sit on her ass, only to see Eve grinning down at her, with an extended hand. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle ignores it, grunting, before using one of her ski poles to hoist herself up into a standing position. She narrows her eyes at Eve, if to remind her that she is an image of grace, even in the sleet bullshit they are currently calling <em>snow</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, letting her hand drop to her side. She nods her head at a couple of small kids skiing nearby, "They have a bunny hill. Maybe you'd like to try that?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scrunches her nose, as she lets out a mocking laugh. She gestures to the slope with her ski pole, letting her face fall back into a serious expression, "Why don't you go ahead, Eve, since you are the <em>pro</em>? I will follow."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you sure? Maybe you should go in front of me in case-"</p><p> </p><p>"Go." Villanelle commands, rolling her eyes. Eve just shakes her head before sliding her goggles over her eyes, and using her ski poles to push herself down over the curve of the slope. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle watches as Eve glides effortlessly down the hill - starting slow, but picking up traction as she makes it further down the hill. Villanelle quirks an impressed brow. It is not that Eve is <em>not</em>not graceful, but the woman tends to move in a sharp way. Angular movements and serrated motions - a powerful fire always burning beneath her skin. But, Eve in the snow is a different breed - smooth glides, and soft turns; her usually untamed curls flowing behind her in pretty tendrils. It is a very pretty sight. Villanelle imprints it into her memory, before adjusting her goggles over her face, and following suit. </p><p> </p><p>She is glad that she is behind Eve. Villanelle is <em>usually</em>a thing of grace - floating, instead of walking - but in the snow, she is reduced to a Bambi-legged creature. She wobbles on her skis, but she tries to replicate what she saw when she watched Eve. She widens her stance, crouching a bit, and she's sure she looks stupid, but at least she is moving and not.. <em>falling</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Eve glances over her shoulder, and when she sees Villanelle making progress behind her, she offers what the younger woman assumes to be is a gloved thumbs up. Very dorky. </p><p> </p><p>It is all fine for a few minutes. Eve is quite a ways in front of her, but she follows behind at a pace that feels comfortable. She is just starting to get the hang of things when the run curves around a bend. She watches as Eve widens her stance, edges her skis to compliment the curve, and she tries to do the same.. and she fails. Miserably. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle takes the turn too fast, and she wobbles on her skis for a bit, before sliding off the trail completely. She hits a neighboring tree - not very hard, given her moderate pace, but hard enough to connect with trunk with a soft <em>thud</em>, and fall on her ass into a slushy puddle of half-snow, half-water. Hard enough to shake the tree just the right amount for a pound of mushy, sleety, shitty snow to fall onto her head. Hard enough for the snow to fall into the crevices of her one-piece, and glide down her spine like a <em>very</em>cold, slithering snake.</p><p> </p><p>She sits there for a few moments, mouth-parted. She is a little disoriented, but mostly just <em>cold</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Skiing is shit. She can not believe anybody subjects themselves to this, willingly. There is a reason she has always preferred the beach, where the worst thing that can happen to you is you get sand in one of your crevices. Or, attached by a shark. At least that would be a cool way to die, rather than freezing to death in the <em>shit-ass</em>snow. </p><p> </p><p>She is pulled from her over-dramatic thought process when Eve rounds the corner. The older woman moves frantically, skiing up to Villanelle, before pulling her goggles off of her head and tossing her poles to the side. When she kneels down to Villanelle's level, her eyes are wide, and the blonde can make out tiny specks of moisture in Eve's curls. She wishes Eve would shut up and let her focus on them, but instead, the older woman's voice is laced with concern when she asks, "Oh my god, Villanelle, are you okay?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, but she realizes Eve probably can't see it because of the goggles. She adjusts them to her forehead, before saying, "Oh, I am great, Eve. I am just sitting in a suit of wet snow for fun." </p><p> </p><p>Eve frowns, and she reaches out to touch a piece of Villanelle's wet hair, "Your hair is soaked. We should probably get back to the hotel room. You'll catch a cold." </p><p> </p><p>"I do not get sick." Villanelle sighs, before grabbing one of her ski poles, and hoisting herself up. As soon as her body registers she's in a standing position, it decides to register everything else as well. Okay, she is <em>very</em> cold. </p><p> </p><p>"Snow can make anybody sick. You're not superhuman." Eve rolls her eyes, picking up her poles, and waving down a nearby resort worker who is surveying the run on a snowmobile. Villanelle chatters a bit, crossing her arms defiantly, and she only hopes her frown looks a lot more threatening than it feels. She figures it must not when Eve looks at her with a smirk, and says, "Guess I should have been a little more serious about the bunny hill." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle jabs Eve's leg with one of her ski poles, and the older woman yelps, reaching down to rub her thigh, and tossing Villanelle an incredulous glance. </p><p> </p><p>"Do not kick me while I am down, Eve. You will not like me when I am down."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, well, I can't say I like you when you're up either." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle watches as the snowmobile treks closer, and Eve leans down to pick up her goggles, "We both know that's not true."</p><p> </p><p>She watches as Eve exhales - a puff of air visible in the cold weather, and her shoulders draw up into the smallest shrug before she offers a very simple, "Yeah."</p><p> </p><p>As the man on the snowmobile pulls up to them, Villanelle is sure that her body must only be colder. The snow is quickly melting into very cold liquid against her bare skin, and her body should be in a state of substantial discomfort. But there is a subtle warmth in her chest that consumes all of her attention. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When they get back to the hotel room, Eve runs the bath. She instructs Villanelle to strip out of the snow suit immediately, which she does, because <em>Duh</em>. The suite has a luxury bathtub with two spouts - which means it should fill up relatively quickly - so Villanelle takes to wrapping herself in a blanket, and crouching in front of the heater until it does. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve reemerges, Villanelle doesn't miss the way the older woman's eyes linger on her bare legs; her goose-bumped shoulders. Eve swallows, diverting her eyes, before saying, "It shouldn't take long."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, smiling at Eve's reaction to her even when she looks like a disheveled dog who has been left out in the rain. It's the small successes.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't think I've ever seen a bath tub that big." Eve chuckles nervously, rubbing her palms against her thighs. </p><p> </p><p>"Care to join me?" Villanelle bites her lip; quirks an eyebrow when Eve finally makes eye contact with her. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, good. You're still disgusting even when you're slightly hypothermic." Eve rolls her eyes, bursting her bubble, and Villanelle just shakes her head before leaning closer to the heater. "Do you want tea, or something?" Eve asks, nonchalantly, heading to the mini-kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, not tea." She nods in the direction of the bottle of champagne that sits on the counter as their <em>Welcome</em>! gift from the resort. </p><p> </p><p>Eve nods. "Good idea. Now, go get in the bath. I'll bring a glass to you."</p><p> </p><p>"So demanding." Villanelle tuts, not moving from her place in front of the heater.</p><p> </p><p>"I have to work tomorrow, remember? It'll be inconvenient if you die."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, letting her blanket slip ever so slightly as she trots past Eve, and she doesn't have to look to know Eve's eyes maintain a steady fixation on her back until she disappears in the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>The tub is already half-full by the time she enters the bathroom. Tendrils of stream rise, and swirl, from the surface of the water, and Villanelle's body reacts immediately. She drops the blanket, before walking to the edge of the tub, and testing the water with her toe. Her toe nearly recoils at the heat of the touch, and that is enough for her to lower her body into the water immediately. It hurts. The water is painful, causing a sensation of needles and pins over the expanse of her icy skin, but it is a welcome pain. </p><p> </p><p>She sighs, leaning back against the smooth porcelain of the tub, and letting her head fall back. It is the unique sensation that Villanelle loves - the feeling of reward, after pain. The feeling of a warm bath after freezing temperatures, or the sting of alcohol on your throat after your mom allows you some vodka after punching you a little too hard, or the feeling of a lover getting out of bed to meet her husband after a powerful orgasm. It is a fucked up thing to relish in, Villanelle knows this, but the fact that it is fucked up does not make it any less true. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't move from her position until the bath tub is finally full. She leans forward to turn off the faucet, and settle back into the position she was resting in, before a knock at the door interrupts her, "Villanelle, are you.. decent?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow at that, looking down at her bare body, before responding, "Yes, Eve. I am sitting in the bathtub with all of my clothes on." </p><p> </p><p>Eve must be nervous. She does not usually ask stupid questions.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up." Eve responds, and Villanelle can hear the tenseness of it through the door. Yep, <em>definitely</em>nervous. "I'm coming in," she offers a little too triumphantly, and she waits a moment before cracking the door.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle will spare her. She brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and she does it for Eve's sake. It would be a shame if she killed Eve, by sending her into shock with the sight of her perfect tits, before getting the chance to sleep with her. </p><p> </p><p>Eve slips through the crack in the door, holding two coffee cups in her hands, and looking all-too meek. Her head is slightly bowed, and she figures that must make it easier for her to not look at Villanelle at all, which is clearly what she's trying to achieve. It's cute.</p><p> </p><p>"Coffee mugs?" Villanelle cocks her head, curiously. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Eve replies. Villanelle watches as her shoulders rise with an inhale, and drop with an exhale, before the older woman finally steels herself and looks at her. There is a fire there - desire, maybe - but it is subdued by nervousness. Eve sets one of the mugs down on the lip of the tub, before saying, "You can fit more champagne this way."</p><p> </p><p>The younger woman allows a small smile at that. She shakes her head, softly, before moving to grab the mug off the lid of the tub. She takes a sip, before resting it on her knees; holding it with both hands. "Smart woman, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe. Or I've just had a little too much drinking experience." Eve chuckles, lowly, before lowering herself so sit on her haunches on the floor next to the tub. She takes a sip of her own mug, before asking, "Are you feeling better?"</p><p> </p><p>"Much."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle watches as Eve's eye trace a gentle trail over her jawline, over the swoop of her neck, over the slope of her shoulders. It stirs a specific feeling in Villanelle's belly - being literally naked in front of Eve, and the older woman fighting a powerless battle to assume her role as voyeur. When Eve's eyes finally trek a soft trail to Villanelle's, she doesn't look away. Villanelle swallows thickly; squeezes her thighs together. She wonders if she should count the number of breathes she's taking in attempt to make them look even; she wonders if she remembers how to count, with the weight of Eve's eyes sinking into her. </p><p> </p><p>Probably not. She barely even remembers how to speak, she realizes, but her mouth tries anyways. Her sounds a little too fragile, when she asks, "What are you looking at, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>"You." </p><p> </p><p>If there's any brown left around the older woman's pupils, it is quickly disappearing. Villanelle swims in the blackness of Eve's eyes until she sinks. <em>Down, down, down</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"And?" Villanelle asks, or pleads, maybe.</p><p> </p><p>"And <em>what</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>"What are you thinking?" She is definitely pleading - her voice is reduced to something a level above a whisper, but only barely so. It's toeing a dangerous line.</p><p> </p><p>Eve sets her mug down on the floor, before leaning forward on her haunches. She doesn't break eye contact with Villanelle as she brings her arm up, slowly, but her hand hand hesitates before it touches the blonde's cheek. The younger woman watches as Eve's fingers twitch, hesitate, before she cups Villanelle's cheek with her palm. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wouldn't believe it if she couldn't see it. The touch is too light. She can barely feel the warmth of Eve's palm against the moistness of her skin, and it's not enough - the ghost of a touch. She turns her face into it, an attempt at confirmation, and she can feel Eve's hesitance. It burns a hole through her cheek, runs a firm course down her neck, and settles a the base of her spine. She feels Eve's hesitance, yes, but she feels Eve, too. </p><p> </p><p>The line blurs between not enough and more than enough. Later, she can wonder how to feel about that. Right now, she will waste no such time wondering about blurred lines. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm thinking.." Eve's voice is frail, and she clears her throat before speaking again, "that it's fucked up that you're still so pretty even when you're half-frozen." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's jaw tenses. It is such an elementary thing to spur a reaction. A crush thinking she is pretty, but she has no control over the dull stab in her stomach. No control over the words dying in her throat, either. She thinks of them - <em>yes, I am very beautiful</em>, and <em>if I'm so pretty, why don't you do something about it? </em>- but they never come to fruition. Instead, she just offers a half-hearted shrug, face unchanging.</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, quietly, at that. </p><p> </p><p>"Your lips are still blue."</p><p> </p><p>"Gross." </p><p> </p><p>"It's kind of cute, actually."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you really not going to touch me, Eve?" It is a sentence that is barely spoken. It comes out in more of a breath than anything, but she feels the words glide across Eve's palm; watches as Eve registers them. </p><p> </p><p>A small, barely-there, smile pulls at the corner of Eve's lips, and her eyes transition from something black and endless, to something brown and finite. They echo some shade of defeat.</p><p> </p><p>"I am touching you." Eve offers back, and her tone reflects the level of quiet softness that Villanelle's had carried just a moment before. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wants to argue it. She really does - she wants to argue until her face is just as blue as her lips, but she can't. Because Eve <em>is</em>touching her; she can feel it, in the depths of her body. She could probably draw a map of the creases of Eve's palms, based on the way they feel on her face, if somebody tasked her with the duty. Eve is touching her, and she doesn't have a say in the way her body cherishes it. She tries to argue, anyways.</p><p> </p><p>"You know what I mean." Villanelle refutes, meekly. </p><p> </p><p>"No." Eve replies, softly, with the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips. When Eve retracts her hand from Villanelle's cheek slowly, the argument dies before it can begin. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle breathes out, at the loss of contact. Had she been holding her breath? Is that why her lips were blue? That has to be a record, right? </p><p> </p><p>Eve collects her coffee cup from the floor, before standing up. "Wanna watch a movie after you're done?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is busy mourning the start of something that was never supposed to be finished, so it takes her a second to register Eve's words. She regards with the woman with dazed eyes, before replying with a simple, "Okay."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay</em>."</p><p> </p><p>And with that, Eve leaves the bathroom. Villanelle tightens her grip around her coffee mug, and sinks lower into the bath. That ball of stress that had remained a healthy shade of immobile is bouncing again. She feels it in her stomach, in her chest; she feels it on her cheek. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She lets Eve choose the movie, again. Mostly because she is too tired to argue about rom-coms, or the lessons to be learned in coming-of-age films. The day is starting to wear on her, and she figures it only makes sense. It is a miracle that her body is still maintaining consciousness - after crying (she has not done that in a while), after nearly giving herself mild hypothermia (out of all the self-destructive things she has done, she has never done that one), after experiencing the stress of another post-Eve confusion (she has done that a few too many times, for her liking). </p><p> </p><p>They are curled up on the king-sized bed, laid on their backs with lazy grips on their coffee mugs, while <em>When Harry Met Sally </em>plays in the background. </p><p> </p><p>Eve chose it, and Villanelle didn't argue. Not only because she doesn't have the energy, but because she likes this one. She has seen it a couple times, actually. </p><p> </p><p>It is a nice movie. Even if Harry and Sally are both idiots. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle verbalizes this, half-way through the movie, during the scene where the two of them meet at the bookstore, six years later. She rolls her eyes, bringing her mug up to her lips to take a careful sip, before saying, "They are idiots. They have wasted so much time." </p><p> </p><p>"Maybe." Eve agrees, but her tone is contemplative. She rolls onto her side, so that her body is half-facing Villanelle but her gaze remains on the TV. She cradles the coffee mug against her stomach. "Or, maybe it just wasn't the right time. Maybe they both needed to figure their shit out first."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, at this - a complacent sound, one that is not indicative of agreeing or disagreeing. </p><p> </p><p>"What do you want?" Eve asks, tearing her gaze from the TV screen in favor of looking at Villanelle, directly. </p><p> </p><p>The blonde quirks an eyebrow, "You are going to have to be more specific, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"What do you want out of life?" Eve rephrases her question, before narrowing her eyes, and pointing an accusatory finger. "Honestly. Don't be a dick."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, blowing air out of her cheeks. "Normal stuff," she shrugs, and Eve guffaws. The sound of it doesn't surprise Villanelle. It was a lazy answer. She's tired, but she still wants to be.. <em>honest</em> with Eve, so she continues, "Nice life. Cool flat. Fun job."</p><p> </p><p>"You have all of that stuff already, don't you?" </p><p> </p><p>"Somebody to watch movies with," she adds, and Eve's eyes widen. <em>Wow</em>, yes, she is very tired. Too tired to filter herself, apparently. Too tired to read too much into Eve's reaction. </p><p> </p><p>"We're doing that right now." Eve offers, obviously. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, well, maybe you were right, Eve. Maybe I needed a.. <em>friend</em>." She offers it, nonchalantly, because she doesn't hold back on her enunciation of the word <em>friend, </em>and Eve's eyes remain in their widened state. "Why do you look so surprised?" </p><p> </p><p>"I.. don't know." Eve's fingers tighten around the handle of her mug. "It just surprises me that you want.. <em>that</em>. You seem to have a real knack for the whole.. meaningless sex thing." Eve's eyes widen again, and Villanelle watches on, comically, as the woman tries to recover, "Sorry. I didn't mean it like <em>that</em>, just to be clear."</p><p> </p><p>"No, it is fine, Eve." Villanelle answers honestly, brining her mug back up to her lips. She takes a sip before wiping at her mouth, "It is pretty meaningless to me." </p><p> </p><p>"Do you like it that way?" Eve asks, curiously.</p><p> </p><p>"I like to feel good." Villanelle shrugs, answering the question, without actually answering the question.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't like to give Eve half-truths, but this is one she has yet to unpack for herself. She likes the way sex works - the power in making somebody feel good, the exchange of power when you let somebody else make you feel good. It puts a temporary bandage over a permanent hole. Villanelle needs things to distract herself, and when one of those things works especially well, she doesn't not bother to question it further. She does not bother to pay attention to the way that hole widens when she lays alone at night, after sharing her bed with a stranger. The way the bandage leaks.</p><p> </p><p>She redirects the question back to Eve, "Don't you?" </p><p> </p><p>"Of course." Eve offers, as if its obvious, "I mean, I have needs. Sex just feels.. <em>intimate</em>. I don't know. It's hard to have sex with just anybody."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow at that. She supposes it makes sense for Eve. Eve who gets close enough to touch, but never reaches out to do so. Eve who opens the door, but never steps through. Eve who can identify a feeling, if only so she can run from it. Eve who has needs, and decides to fill those needs with people like <em>Hugo</em>, but she won't bring that one up right now. </p><p> </p><p>"What about the other part?" Villanelle asks, interest quickly winning out of her tiredness.</p><p> </p><p>"Which part?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do you want.. somebody?" <em>Somebody to watch movies with, somebody to come home to? </em>It has yet to cross Villanelle's mind that maybe this is something Eve does not want, given that she has already had it and that did not end well.</p><p> </p><p>She feels very interested in knowing this, much more interested than the other questions, she realizes. The ball bounces.</p><p> </p><p>"I.. don't know." Eve's shoulders collapse a bit with her answer, and she sighs before continuing, "I haven't really gotten that far." </p><p> </p><p>"How far have you gotten?" Villanelle asks. When she sees the crease form between Eve's eyebrows, she clarifies, "What <em>do </em>you want, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle waits for another <em>I don't know</em>. Eve is good at those. It's frustrating.</p><p> </p><p>"I want to get back to work. Journalism, I mean." Eve's shoulders draw up with a small raise, and Villanelle can see the yearning outline the movement. </p><p> </p><p>"Then get back to journalism." She answers, simply. "You love it, no?"</p><p> </p><p>"I do." Eve sighs, "It's just.. complicated." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle inhales deeply, setting her coffee mug on the nightstand, before straightening her posture. She is going to tell Eve what she needs to hear, even if it is hard. Even it is something she was told once, and she still hasn't accepted. She exhales. </p><p> </p><p>"Eve, look at me."</p><p> </p><p>Eve glances at Villanelle from her periphery, but when she meets the intensity of Villanelle's gaze, she sits up a bit - resting her weight on one of her elbows, as she regards the younger woman with a dubious gaze. "..Okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"You do not have to stay in Franklin to be close to Bill." Villanelle offers it, gently but firmly, and she has to bite her lip when she watches the slight recoil of Eve's shoulders. She musters the strength to continue, knowing her words could potentially serve as a rock - a rock that is being thrown into a room full of glass, "He is with you, all of the time."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes shimmer with a shade of frailty, and it's enough for Villanelle's words to stutter in her chest. She does not want to hurt Eve, but sometimes, the truth does just that, so she continues, "He was your best friend, no? He would want what is best for you. I can not say what that is for you, but I have an idea it is not staying in Franklin, running a dive bar, half-heartedly." She shrugs, leaning back against the pillows, her voice taking on a quieter tone,</p><p> </p><p>"When we lose somebody we love, we carry them with us. Some say it is the work of angels." Villanelle laughs, humorlessly, "Personally, I think it is the work of the devil. But regardless, he is there, Eve. Wherever you go."</p><p> </p><p>She watches as Eve's throat bobs, watches at the tears brim in Eve's eyes but never fall, and she wonders where they go instead. Villanelle does not cry often, but when she starts, she can not stop. Her father once told her it is grief leaving the body - a cleansing act. She wonders just how much grief Eve carries with her every day, and where Bill fits into it.</p><p> </p><p>"That was.. oddly comforting," Eve offers it weakly; honestly, before regaining eye contact with Villanelle, and offering a sincere, "Thank you, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, "No need." </p><p> </p><p>She passes the thanks along to her father, silently. It is not hers to hold; it feels a little too heavy in her hands. </p><p> </p><p>Eve climbs up the bed and rests her back against the pillows, laying side-by-side with Villanelle. Their upper arms rest against one another's, barely touching, but Villanelle can swear she can feel every emotion Eve is experiencing. Heartbreak, relief, serenity. Perhaps it does not matter how big or little the touch is, Villanelle is realizing, when it is just another blurred line. When Eve touches Villanelle, the lines between their bodies blur - and they merge into something no longer separate - no, they merge into something whole and dangerous. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, maybe they are just idiots," Eve laughs quietly, her attention fixed back on the TV screen, and it pulls Villanelle from her daze. It's the scene where Harry and Sally call their friends after sleeping together, and Villanelle doesn't respond.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks it's because maybe she has changed her opinion.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Maybe it just wasn't the right time. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She watches on, quietly - but her gaze fixes on the corner of the TV, rather than the screen itself. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve's body feels a little too heavy next to her, and the mug is supported by a lazy grip, Villanelle realizes the older woman has fallen asleep. The blonde has to fight an eye roll. Of course, Eve falls asleep before they even get together. Of course, Eve stays awake for all the stressful annoying stuff, only to sleep through the good stuff. Villanelle gently pries the mug from Eve's hand, setting it on the nightstand along with her own. The gestures stirs a little movement in Eve, and the older woman readjusts before bringing her head to rest in the nook of Villanelle's shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stills. She does not want to wake Eve for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because she doesn't want Eve to wake up and have a mini-freakout at the unconscious touching. She wants to assume they are past that, but every time she assumes they are past that, Eve pulls on her side of the rope until Villanelle comes flying forward, hands bloodied and panting. Mostly, though, she does not want to wake Eve because she does not want to mourn the loss of her touch. She's already done that once tonight, and mourning is <em>really</em>not her color, so she would prefer to not put herself through it again. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle watches as the last scene of the movie, plays upon the TV. Harry is professing his love to Sally, talking way too much in the process, and Sally tries to walk away. She can't. For whatever reason - a lack of will, a deep-seated curiosity, or maybe because she is attached to one end of a rope. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You see, that is just like you Harry. You say things like that and you make it impossible for me to hate you. And I hate you Harry... I really hate you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And they kiss, and they live happily ever after, and Villanelle doesn't move even when the credits start rolling. It is a stupid movie - unrealistic, and flowery. In the real world, Harry and Sally would probably make it a good five years before resenting each other, and divorcing. She suddenly wishes Eve was awake so that she would agree with her. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't, though. She doesn't want to hear Eve's overly-realistic view on the world, and relationships. She doesn't want to hear Eve shoot down whatever hope Villanelle is subconsciously clinging to. She also just doesn't want Eve to wake up, because she has no more words left in her. Because Villanelle is lost in thought, and she probably couldn't produce small-talk about <em>opposites attract if only to repel later on</em> even if she tried. The movie is especially stupid because it sends Villanelle sinking into a thought-process that she would really rather not entertain. For the second time that day, she thinks about presence and absence. The presence of love, the absence of hate. The presence of her mother's hate, and the absence of her father's love - felt long after it was ripped away from her.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about the presence and absence of Eve's body. She thinks about the way Eve buries her cheek into the safety of Villanelle's neck - and she thinks about how she is more affected by the contact, than any sexual encounter she has ever had. She thinks about the warmth of Eve's body burying itself into Villanelle's sides - and how she would choose this touch, over the touch of a one-night lover, a thousand times over. She feels both the absence and presence of Eve's body as it's pressed against hers - holy, and plentiful, yet somehow still not enough. It is the first time that Villanelle has felt wholly satisfied, while still yearning for something more. So, the line blurs.</p><p> </p><p>The credits end, and Villanelle still doesn't move to turn off the TV. She cautiously reaches over the flick out the light on the nightstand, and she settles against the pillows. When the room falls into a heavy darkness, lit only barely by the moonlight streaming in through the window, she feels an arm snake out across her waist. Something about the darkness makes Villanelle feel a little safer; less exposed, more confident. She hesitates only momentarily before bringing her hand up to trek gentle trails up and down Eve's forearm with her fingers. If Eve wakes up, the room is dark enough that she could blame it on a feather, or the rustling of the sheets. It is just another barely-there touch, after all. So why does she feel it at the base of her spine? </p><p> </p><p>She treks a few successful trails, before she stills at the sound of Eve muttering against her neck, "I'm awake. Just so you know." </p><p> </p><p>"Oh."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's fingers stop their movements. She hesitates, before letting her palm rest on Eve's forearm, unsure what to do. It is a delicate dance.</p><p> </p><p>"You don't.. have to stop," Eve mutters, warmly whispered against Villanelle's skin, "I just wanted you to know." </p><p> </p><p>"Oh."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle let's the words register, lets them translate: <em>I'm awake. This is on my own accord.</em></p><p> </p><p>She lets her fingers move again. She treks quiet, affectionate trails up and down Eve's forearm. She wonders if Eve can hear what's she's trying to say: <em>I don't know what I'm doing, Eve</em>, and <em>I think I'm scared</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Ah, right. She is scared. <em>Of course</em>. The ball bounces - but it is a feeling that is easily ignorable, in comparison to the subtle electricity that she feels under her fingertips. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has mastered the art of resilience in the face of fear. She has created a perfect skill out of creating bravery where it should never be allowed to exist. The warmth under her fingertips, winning the battle against the stress lining her stomach, gives her the motivation to do exactly that. She decides to be brave. </p><p> </p><p>She lets her fingers enclose a gentle loop around Eve's wrist, and she pulls the older woman's arm around her back - an invitation to come closer, <em>closer</em>until there is no more room between them. Eve's movements are slow, but compliant. She tucks her chin a little tighter into Villanelle's neck, inches her body a little closer, until the blonde can feel the curls of Eve's hair tickling her jawline. She turns onto her side, and loops an arm around Eve's back - pulling her into her, thus pulling on the rope. When Eve curls into the shape of her body, she rests her chin on the crown of Eve's head. She traces quiet lines up and down Eve's spine, and it feels much better than tracing a feathery trail against the woman's forearm. That was nice, too, but not enough - not compared to this, when she can feel all of Eve. </p><p> </p><p>There is no line to be blurred. There is no room for one to exist, when their bodies are molded together completely. They lay there, wrapped up like post-coital lovers, blanketed in the safety of their own world.</p><p> </p><p>Except, they aren't lovers. </p><p> </p><p>Except, there was no sex.</p><p> </p><p>Except, they aren't safe.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thinks about how different this thought-process is, compared to the one she had in the Cafe after Eve had told her she had slept with Hugo. She had thought about Eve liked it, whether she liked to be fucked from behind, by somebody she feel anything for, but it never crossed her mind that maybe <em>this </em>is how Eve likes it. </p><p> </p><p>If Eve considers sex too intimate, then what does she consider this?</p><p> </p><p>And so, Villanelle wonders if its useless to question the intimacy of their embrace - how bizarre it feels to hold Eve like this, when they have not even had sex, or <em>kissed</em>, for that matter. Maybe Eve likes to work backwards - and maybe, that only makes sense, given the fact that their first meeting awakened a long-sleeping beast that Villanelle didn't know was inside of her. Maybe it is useless to question anything in regards to Eve, useless to attach the word bizarre to their situation, when everything about it has been bizarre. If Eve likes to move backwards, that is fine - she feels like she has been moving backwards since the moment she met her, anyways. If this is how Eve likes it, it is fine.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe, this is how she likes it too. </p><p> </p><p>She has never considered it before. Never had the chance, really.</p><p> </p><p>The ball bounces.</p><p> </p><p>The ache stabs.</p><p> </p><p>She accepts them both.</p><p> </p><p>She falls asleep that night - a little scared, a little stressed, and largely taken aback.</p><p> </p><p>Most importantly, she falls asleep with the weight of Eve in her arms.</p><p> </p><p>So really, she falls asleep very peacefully, despite it all. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ok.. I struggled with this one because I don't want Eve and V to just be.. bonding over trauma, but also want V to engage with the parts of herself that she has pushed down in an environment where it is accepted safely. I wrote and re-wrote the truck scene many a time, but it got a place where I felt I just had to leave it and trust the process! </p><p>this was a heavy chapter to write, but felt necessary - but please let me know if you feel otherwise, in the comments! I'm always open to all times of feedback + insight, and appreciate it greatly. thank you all so, so much! </p><p>okay, nothing left to say. thanks for reading nearly 20,000 words of that ^ &lt;3</p><p>and for all of my sweet ones that keep up with this fic that are slowly being killed by the slow-burn, I’m especially sorry. we’re getting there babies. u can send me one digital pinch via comment</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: mentions of child abuse<br/>TW: mentions of parent death</p><p>these things are not mentioned as explicitly as they were in the last chapter, but they are still riddled throughout - so please take note, and take care! &lt;3</p><p>this one has been split into two chapters (see end notes), and they're both getting uploaded tonight! if you are an early bird, and I somehow haven't uploaded the second chapter by the time you finished reading the first, give the page a good ol' refresh and hopefully it'll be up by the time you do! </p><p>I can't thank you enough for all the comments and insights you have given me! it means the word and I cherish each and every word! thank you so much!</p><p>happy reading xo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle wakes up, to the faint sound of a faint thumping.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't have to open her eyes to investigate what it is - no, it's coming from inside of her head. There is a headache pulsing, bouncing between her temples, and it's painful enough for her to only squeeze her eyes shut harder. What did she do the day before?</p><p> </p><p>Cry. Snow. Champagne. Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She figures that at least two, out of those four factors, make sense why it feels like somebody is trying to crack her skull open with a hammer. Nothing to do with snow or champagne. Much to do with crying, and Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She cried an obscene amount yesterday - which makes it a very real possibility that her body has retained zero hydration. The snow has never been anything more than a major inconvenience to her, definitely not something that has ever been responsible for ailments.  And while she feels hungover, she knows that a mug of champagne is an unlikely culprit. A hangover from Eve, though? Very likely. In fact, she has experienced it many times. </p><p> </p><p>She grunts, before she finally wills herself to open her eyes. When she does, she is met with the sight of Eve - already awake - looking directly at her. Staring, is a better word for it.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wakes up, in the real way, this time. It does not matter if her body started its consciousness before she opened her eyes, <em>no</em> - this is waking up. Villanelle feels her headache fade away, and she feels every nerve in her body come alive.</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't look away when Villanelle's eyes open to meet hers. The older woman's face transforms only slightly. Her eyes widen momentarily, and Villanelle wonders if she'll hear some excuse of <em>you were snoring </em>or something else of the like, but Eve's eyes reduce back to their normal size. A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips, but she just continues to stare. It is an enamored stare. Soft, and intent.</p><p> </p><p>Is Villanelle dreaming?</p><p> </p><p>She could be, but it is unlikely. If she was dreaming, her and Eve would <em>definitely</em>be touching. But, they are not touching - not in the least. Eve is less than arms-length away, and Villanelle briefly curses for her subconscious for allowing them to untangle during the night. That is the most likely possibility, <em>or</em>Eve untangled herself when she woke up, in order to look at Villanelle the way she is, now. And with the way the older woman is looking at her, she feels that is an equally-as-likely possibility. </p><p> </p><p>Eve is laying on her side, her cheek propped in the palm of her hand, and her hair curtains in her face in the usual way it does when the older woman wears it down. It looks a little different now, though - tousled and wild, from sleep - and Villanelle realizes this is her favorite way to see it. Not yet tamed by Eve's fingers running through it, not yet weighted down from the day. </p><p> </p><p>The early light is streaming in the from the window, and it does a beautiful dance over the expanse of Eve's skin - lingering on her shoulders, and skimming her forearms. It is a problem, Villanelle realizes, that the sun gets to caress her so earnestly, and she does not.</p><p> </p><p>The blonde watches as the soft brown of Eve's eyes flit about gently to trace along the features of her face - a slow trail across her brow bone, down her nose, following the curve of her lips. Eve stares unabashedly, exposed completely by the morning rays of the sun, and Villanelle thinks it's interesting the times Eve chooses confidence.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thinks it's interesting that she is the one who felt confidence creep up into her chest, only in the darkness of a hotel room. She thinks it's interesting that the lights being turned out is what gave her the courage to reach out, and trek soft trails again Eve's forearm only when it was not visible. She thinks it's interesting that <em>she</em>is the one who is confident in wanting Eve all of the time, yet makes advances when they're not easily seen. But it is Eve, who only seems to feel confident in wanting Villanelle sometimes, allows it to be seen wholeheartedly - under the bright rays of the sun.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks it's interesting that Eve's confidence is contagious.</p><p> </p><p>If she is scared, in the light-filled room, she can not feel it. She welcomes Eve's confidence, lets it seeps into her pores. Once again, she decides to be brave - in bigger ways than dark rooms, and feather touches. So, she leans forward.</p><p> </p><p>She forgoes a <em>Good morning</em>, or <em>Did you sleep well, Eve? </em>in favor of whispering the most delicate command ever given. Or maybe, it's not the most delicate command ever given, because it's really not a command at all. It's a plead, she realizes, once she hears the breathy whisper leave her lips, "Don't run, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>She hesitates to watch Eve's response.</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't run.</p><p> </p><p>No, she doesn't do so much as recoil. Her eyebrows knit together slightly, but her eyes maintain a steady fixation on the blonde's lips, so Villanelle leans forward. Leans forward until she can hear the quiet intake of Eve's breath, leans forward until Eve becomes nothing more than a blurry figure before her eyes, leans forward until she can feel Eve's breath on her lips, leans forward until.. she sneezes.</p><p> </p><p>She fucking <em>sneezes</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Eve jumps at the sound.</p><p> </p><p>It's too comical, to be true. It is something she sees in the shit rom-coms she watches, but it is not something that happens in real life. She does not have the valor to chase Eve's lips, a second time. Not when Eve looks on the verge of bursting into laughter. Not when Eve pulls back, and another sneeze pulls in. And with the sneeze, comes a swift return of the throbbing headache she had so eagerly forgotten about. And with the headache, comes a thickness when she tries to swallow. And for once, it has nothing to do with Eve.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle considers sinking through the bed, into the Earth, begging it to swallow her whole. </p><p> </p><p>"дерьмо," she whispers, defeatedly, letting her head fall back against the pillow. <em>Did </em>the Earth swallow her? Her body suddenly feels on fire, as if she's been airlifted into the pits of Hell. </p><p> </p><p>She watches from her periphery as Eve's eyebrows raise at her use of her native tongue, but those raised eyebrows suddenly contort from an expression of surprise, to an expression of concern. Eve drops her hand away from her cheek, leaning over her a bit, and Villanelle stills, before she realizes Eve is <em>definitely </em>not leaning into kiss her, but resting the back of her hand against her forehead.</p><p> </p><p>Wow. If the Earth is not going to swallow her, and Eve isn't either, she suddenly wishes for a quick death on this hotel bed. Actually, it doesn't even have to be quick. She will gladly accept an excruciatingly long death, as long as it happens on this hotel bed, and she is not forced to see the light of day again. </p><p> </p><p>"Shit, Villanelle." Eve mutters, not pulling her hand away from the blonde's forehead, "Do you feel okay? You're burning up." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, reaching up to pull Eve's hand away from her now-sweaty forehead, "I feel fine." </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't. In many ways. But physically, she feels like she got run over by many horses. Big ones. An entire stampede of stallions. <em>Smetanka's</em>. The kind you see in Russia.</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets her hand fall away, before raising an eyebrow at the blonde, "Really? Because you look like shit." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle guffaws, but it comes out more like a croak. The thickness of her throat doesn't allow the sound to pass. She turns her head to look at Eve, narrowing her eyes, "<em>Really</em>? It does not seem like you felt that way a moment ago." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth parts slightly, but she just rolls her eyes, before throwing the blankets back and moving to stand up out of bed. Villanelle watches with confused eyes, as the image of Eve reverberates with the pounding of her head, "Where are you going?" </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Come back. Finish what you started for once.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"To the lobby." Eve answers, simply, tying her hair up into a messy bun. The image pains her.</p><p> </p><p>She has been awake for less than five minutes and she is already on another losing streak. She felt like a serene puddle of still-water, only moments ago. Now she feels like that same puddle, except somebody threw a rock directly into it - disturbing the peace, causing choppy waves. She feels.. <em>angry</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"I hope it is because you are making yourself useful and bringing us back coffee." She replies, sharply.</p><p> </p><p>She lets an arm fall over her eyes, lazily - enough to shield her from the assault of the sun's rays, but not enough to skew Eve from her vision completely. She watches from the corner of her eye as the older woman hand's still in her hair, pausing to look at Villanelle with raised eyebrows, before securing her bun, and letting her hands fall away.</p><p> </p><p>"You are being a dick," Eve says, simply - a rare occurrence of the older woman speaking that is void of bark or bite, as she grabs her wallet from the nightstand, "but I'm giving you a pass because you're sick." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets her arm fall away from her face, so that Eve can see the full range of her scowl.</p><p> </p><p>The words are about to leave her lips - <em>I'm not sick, Eve </em>- but a cough comes out instead. Phlegmy, and gross, and counterproductive to whatever argument she was about to make. </p><p> </p><p>She lets her head fall back against the pillow, and if her head wasn't pounding, she'd probably put a little more thought into the way her voice sounds more like a <em>whine </em>than a question, "Why are you going to the lobby, then? If not to get us coffee."</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't say I <em>wasn't</em> getting us coffee." Villanelle's eyes light up a bit at that, and Eve shrugs, glancing at her reflection in the mirror where she catches the blonde's eyes. She rolls her eyes, before saying, "Being sick is bad enough. I'm not gonna force you into a caffeine headache, too." </p><p> </p><p>Thank god. Out of the <em>few? </em>things her and Eve share in common, she is very grateful that one of them is caffeine dependence. She is not sure she would make through the morning, otherwise. </p><p> </p><p>"But I'm getting you some Ibuprofen, and seeing about extending our check-out." Eve adds, moving to head towards the door before Villanelle stops her with a, "<em>Wait</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Eve turns around, forehead creased with confusion, because there should be nothing in that sentence that warrants arguing, "What?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do not extend our check-out."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"I do not have my laptop here, and you have to work tonight." Villanelle offers, thickly, the soreness of her throat cracking her words. </p><p> </p><p>"You're thinking about working, right now? Villanelle, you have a <em>fever</em>." </p><p> </p><p>The blonde just cocks an eyebrow at that.</p><p> </p><p>Aside from caffeine-depence, this should really be one of the few things that Eve can easily understand. The older woman is a work-a-holic, even in regards to running a bar that she doesn't feel fulfilled by, so Villanelle can only imagine what Eve looked like as a journalist. </p><p> </p><p>The cocked eyebrow must serve as realization enough, because Eve's shoulders deflate and she's shaking her head before muttering a, "Fine."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls the sheets over her eyes. She can't even relish in the feeling of small victories, in her current state. She doesn't hear Eve move from her place on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>"But I'm driving," the older woman adds. </p><p> </p><p><em>Obviously</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sticks her hand out from underneath the sheets to give Eve a thumbs-up.</p><p> </p><p>"If you so much as throw up on the side of the road, I'm checking us into the nearest hotel." Eve also adds, because she has to have the last word. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle grunts. </p><p> </p><p>When she hears Eve shuffling towards the door, she peeks her sweaty forehead out of the sheets to say, "Do not forget about the coffee, Eve. You do not want to see me caffeine-deprived." </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, asshole. I got it." </p><p> </p><p>"This is your fault, you know." She directs the words at Eve's back, because she <em>also </em>has to have the last word.</p><p> </p><p>Eve turns around, mouth parted in confusion. It slowly morphs into realization when she remembers what she had said to Villanelle after her ski crash yesterday, and she just laughs quietly, before saying, "You don't really strike me as the type to believe in jinxes." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, before turning onto her side and curling into a fetal position. Eve hesitates, but she hears the shuffling of her feet once the older woman had accepted she wasn't going to get a response. She relaxes a bit when she hears the door close. </p><p> </p><p>She does not tell Eve that she actually <em>does</em>believe in jinxes, but that is not what she meant. The last time she had gotten this sick was after Anna had called things off between them. Villanelle had spent days with her body lingering in a state between <em>inexplicably-stressed</em>, and <em>I'm-going-to-die-stressed</em>, before her immune system finally collapsed. She was bed-ridden for nearly a week. Thinking about the stress she felt with Anna feels like a small granule of sand compared to the sandcastle of stress she has felt since knowing Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She does not tell Eve that she doesn't need ibuprofen - that she hasn't taken pain-relievers since she was very small. It is less of an active choice, and more of habit, at this point. It was just one of the pills she mastered the art of hiding under her tongue.</p><p> </p><p>After her mom would bloody her lip or blacken her eye, she would let herself into Villanelle's room late in the night. She would sit on the edge of her bed, tuck her hair behind her ear, and press a few Ibuprofen into her palm. Her mother's movements were always so gentle during those hours, a stark contrast to the violence, that it would make Villanelle nearly vomit on sight.</p><p> </p><p>It started with her feeling too nauseous to swallow the little red pills, but it ended with Villanelle welcoming the pain like an over-due visitor. If her mom was going to cause her pain, if her mom was going to tell it was because she deserved it, then she wanted to <em>feel </em>it. But she is an adult now, and her flu-like state is not the result of her mother's hand. </p><p> </p><p>If her swallowing some pills will make Eve feel better, then she will do it.</p><p> </p><p>She does not tell Eve that the reason she wants to check-out of the hotel has nothing to do with work. She will probably do very little of it, by the time she gets back, if she's being honest. It more so has to do with the fact that she can't stomach being locked in a hotel room with Eve - a room haunted with so many <em>almost's </em>- while she lays, sick and pathetic, leaving Eve to dote after her. Not that Eve seems like the type to dote, but Villanelle can't dismiss the fact that the older woman would try.</p><p> </p><p>She would like to be taken care of in many ways by Eve - the throb between her legs reminds her of this, matches the throb in her head - but none of those ways involve a scenario where she is helpless and sweaty. <em>Well</em>, not helpless and sweaty because she's flu-ridden. </p><p> </p><p>She does not tell Eve any of these things, and she figures it's okay. Her throat hurts, and all of these things would take very long to explain. She tucks them away, in the same way she tucks her forehead into her pillow, and closes her eyes. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Eve is a very attentive driver. </p><p> </p><p>She realizes this once they're on the road.</p><p> </p><p>The older woman drives with two hands on the wheel, a coffee placed precariously between her thighs (because while she had gotten Villanelle a coffee, she had also asserted that the younger woman has to drink some orange juice too, because <em>you need some sort of Vitamin C to counter out all the sugar of that fucking latte</em>), and she glances over her shoulder two-times before changing lanes.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is a vocal driver, too, Villanelle finds out when the older woman yells after being cut off by a Prius, <em>(oh come on, asshole, you care about the environment but not endangering our fucking lives?!</em>). Eve apologizes immediately afterwards, not for entering stage 1 road-rage, but for yelling while she knows Villanelle's head is splitting. The blonde dismisses the apology, partly because the Ibuprofen has actually helped and <em>wow</em>, maybe she should start taking this stuff more, but also because she just regards all of this as very.. endearing. </p><p> </p><p>"Just gonna get hypothetical here, for a moment." Eve starts, looking over her shoulder before changing lanes once again, "If we were to <em>hypothetically </em>get into a car accident, and the furniture in the back was to <em>hypothetically </em>get damaged, how much would I <em>hypothetically</em> owe you?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs - croaks, really - before letting her forehead fall against the passenger side window, "It does not matter, Eve. I could buy two-hundred of those bookcases."</p><p> </p><p>She couldn't, actually. That bookcase, given its year and condition, was like finding a needle in the haystack. But that is just another thing she will not tell Eve - but this time, it is out of good faith. She would like to arrive back in Franklin in one piece, and that is not possible if Eve continues to drive the U-haul like a nervous soccer mom.</p><p> </p><p>Eve relaxes a little, settling in her seat, and Villanelle watches as the older woman glances from her from her periphery, "Are you feeling any better?"</p><p> </p><p>"Define better." Villanelle groans, relishing in the coldness of the window against the heat of her forehead. </p><p> </p><p>Eve chews the inside of her cheek, contemplatively, "Maybe you should lay down?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, trying to understand what image Eve could be conceptualizing of a comfortable situation, given the the non-ideal length of the truck bench.</p><p> </p><p>Eve leans further back in her seat, adjusting the coffee cup so it rests a little closer to her knees, before patting her lap. Villanelle's cocked eyebrow doesn't lower, and Eve just rolls her eyes before saying, "Put your feet up. You'll feel better, if you lay down."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle blows a raspberry, kicking her shoes off, before relenting. Eve was right about the Ibuprofen. Eve was right about the orange juice - even if its stinging her throat. Maybe, she is right about this too. Or maybe her body just can't fathom being vertical any longer.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, before unbuckling her seatbelt, and sliding down in her seat. She curls onto her side - laying her cheek on her arm, and stretching out her legs until her feet come to rest in Eve's lap. It feels kind of awkward, which doesn't make any sense given the fact they woke up in each other's arms this morning, but logic doesn't seem to apply to any situation they find themselves in. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve's hand falls away from the steering wheel in favor of coming to rest on Villanelle's ankle, the blonde looks down skeptically. The skepticism only grows when Eve starts rubbing small, comforting circles into the skin near Villanelle's ankle. </p><p> </p><p>Once again, Eve was right. She won't say it out loud. Her body feels much less weighted this way; she wonders if this has to do with being horizontal, or the softness of Eve's fingertips tracing quiet shapes into her skin. She should really just accept it, or thank her, but there is still a frustration lingering, quiet and obtrusive in Villanelle chest, so she asks, "Is this the part where you tell me you have a foot fetish?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs, only stilling her movements for a moment, before she resumes rubbing circles into Villanelle's skin, "God, can you just.. <em>not </em>be gross, for even a minute?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle gives a one-armed shrug, the best she can do in her current position, before replying, "There are grosser things than foot fetishes, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>She wiggles her toes, as if to corroborate her statement, and Eve glares at her from the corner of her eye. Villanelle wonders if there is any fetish that Eve could be into that would put her off. Surely, there must be one. But anything that she thinks of that could spur desire in Eve does not seem off-limits to her. She feels that anything that could spur <em>want</em>in Eve is, undoubtedly, a very beautiful thing. It is a very off-putting thought. </p><p> </p><p>"Go to sleep, or something," Eve replies, annoyedly, fishing the Blondie Cd out of the center compartment and pushing it into the CD player. She turns adjusts the volume until the music is a barely audible hum, which Villanelle assumes is supposed to serve as a very graceful <em>sucks that you're sick, but please shut up anyways</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle does. She really tries - to close her eyes, to count sheep, to think of things that don't revolve around Eve's gentle touch, and she fails, miserably. She makes it through a few songs. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>🎶 Darlin' darlin' darlin'<br/>
I can't wait to see you<br/>
 Your picture ain't enough<br/>
I can't wait to touch you in the flesh🎶</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She watches Eve's movements through hooded eyes. The gentle tap of her fingers on the steering wheel, a clumsy rhythm with the beat, the movement of her mouth as she sings silent lyrics. Villanelle wonders if she can't sleep because of reasonable things - like her throat feeling too thick to breath properly, or the sweat gathering along her brow bone - but this far along in knowing Eve, she assumes she can't sleep because of the unreasonable things.</p><p> </p><p>The conundrum of the woman in the driver's seat. Every time pulls back a Curtin of Eve, she is met with the view of another closed curtain. She wonders about what's behind it. It reminds her of a bizarre American movie her father would always put on - <em>The Wizard of Oz</em>. There was the man behind the curtain, and she wonders how many of those little men live inside of Eve. Pushing buttons, keeping things secured, maintaining an illusion. </p><p> </p><p>As she looks at Eve now, she feels like she sees a photo of Eve, but not Eve. She gets glimpses, here and there, but she has never been one to settle for glimpses. Especially not now, when her reasons for wanting to see the whole picture have surpassed absurd excuses of simple curiosities. No, she <em>cares </em>to know Eve. Fully, thoroughly, honestly.</p><p> </p><p>"I can not sleep," Villanelle groans, readjusting and curling forward a bit, so she can get a clearer look of the older woman. She hesitates, only slightly, before the request passes through her lips, quietly, "Tell me about your life, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs then, lowly and with her eyebrows knitting together, "My <em>life</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>She casts a sideways glance at Villanelle, and something about the nonchalance of it is frustrating to the blonde. As if Eve can't understand why the minute details of her life would serve as great points of interest to Villanelle. As if everything that has made Eve the person she is today is not something to be known, to be cherished.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't respond. Eve eventually fastens her gaze back on the road, but Villanelle doesn't miss the way her hand tightens around the steering wheel; doesn't miss the way Eve's fingers stop moving against her skin. She doesn't mourn it, this time - not if it means she is allowed some insight into the mysterious double-sided mirror of the older woman's interior. </p><p> </p><p>"What do you want to know?" Eve asks, voice laced with trepidation. </p><p> </p><p><em>Everything</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"What was your childhood like?" Villanelle asks, drawing her shoulders up in an attempt to round the words out as nonchalantly as possible.</p><p> </p><p>It is hard to do, she realizes. Nonchalance is starting to feel like a chore. It has little do with being sick. Is she starting to grow resentful? Maybe that is good. Resentment is something she can work with. Very preferable to.. <em>whatever this is</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Um," Eve eyes narrow the slightest bit, as she pulls her hand away from Villanelle's ankle in favor of tightening it against the steering wheel, "I guess I already told you the jist of it. Grew up in the suburbs of New Hope, Pennsylvania. Only child of immigrant church-goers. Mom worked a lot, dad worked a lot."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's voice trails off with a shrug, and Villanelle has to bite her lip to keep her patience in check. It's clear that Eve is struggling to do what she usually does best - relay only the necessary information, without diving deeper. But Eve is struggling because she is realizing that the question Villanelle asked can't warrant a bare-bones response.</p><p> </p><p>She watches as Eve's face twists into something of confusion - as if she's trying to find a starting point amongst a sea of beginnings, middles, and ends. It tests Villanelle's patience, but the blonde takes a moment to remember the way they sat in the truck yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sobbing, Eve wiping away her tears. Villanelle stuck in a state of paralysis, Eve sitting with her patiently. Yes, Eve was very patient with her. Helpful, even. Maybe it is her time to return the favor. She watches as the confusion settles into the creases around Eve's eyes, so she offers the only thing she can - a starting point, a guide.</p><p> </p><p>"Why did your parents come here?" Villanelle asks, attentively, reaching over to turn down the volume of the radio. Eve frowns as she watches the movement.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh.. they immigrated here in the 70s. South Korea was pretty.. <em>authoritarian</em>, at the time. Because of the Yushin Constitution, and what not. They were poor, to begin with. But when the 70s were coming to a close, South Korea was becoming incredibly.. unstable, for working people." Eve pauses, collecting her thoughts, maybe, "So they immigrated to the States, in hopes for something for.. <em>hopeful</em>. More stable." </p><p> </p><p>Eve chuckles, lowly and darkly, and Villanelle watches the thick bob of her throat with the motion. She recognizes it - a bob thats meant to suppress tears, choke them down until they become a recognizable liquid littered somewhere deep in the body. Villanelle thinks about the absence of the the tears, thinks about the presence of them somewhere else - unreleased. She thinks about traumas - those felt first-hand, and those felt generationally.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I think we all carry our parent's scars. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve swallows, before she starts again, "They worked odd jobs for five years. Kitchens, mostly. But other things too - house cleaning, or whatever they could manage until they got their green cards. They did, eventually, but.. the process is a bitch. You know, I guess."</p><p> </p><p>Eve pauses to glance at Villanelle from her periphery, and the blonde nods. Soft and encouragingly. She knows, <em>sure</em>, but not in the way Eve's parents do. Villanelle got her green card to ensure she could leave a life of devastation behind, yes, but she had a choice in leaving Russia. There is a sense of luxury amongst the trials and tribulations. She figures these are not things Eve's parents were afforded.</p><p> </p><p>"My mom got pregnant with me shortly afterwards, and my dad enrolled in school to be a family practitioner. It's.. an insane amount of school." Eve shakes her head, her bun bouncing with an air of disbelief, "Four years, pre-med. Another four years in actual med. And then three years, residency. He didn't graduate until I was eleven." </p><p> </p><p>"Wow," Villanelle replies dumbly.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, <em>wow</em>," Eve echoes, and the word falls off her tongue, pregnant with tenseness. </p><p> </p><p>"When he wasn't studying, he worked late-night shifts at our local grocery store. Him and my mom would just kind of.. trade off." Eve exhales, sinking a bit lower into her seat, and it looks an awful lot like trying to disappear into herself.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle retracts her feet from her lap, in an attempt to give Eve space. She slinks her body into some form of up-right, curling her legs into her chest, and wrapping her arms around them. </p><p> </p><p>"What did your mom do?" Villanelle asks, curiously.</p><p> </p><p>"Receptionist, at a dentists office. She was lucky to land it, because her English was still pretty broken at that time, but the guy who's business it was was a friend of the family. One of the few other Koreans in New Hope," Eve taps her fingers against the steering wheel, "He'd let her bring me along to work, most of the time. If it was too busy, she'd drop me at Church for one of the other moms to watch." Eve shrugs, "I guess the Church was kind of a saving grace, in that way. Literally." </p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, at that and so Villanelle does, too. Even though it is a dumb joke.</p><p> </p><p>"They did their best to make things work, with the cards they were dealt. But it was.. hard." Eve throat bobs again, "The nature of our home was.. pretty <em>fucking</em>detached, Villanelle, so I guess that's why I'm hesitant to talk about it."</p><p> </p><p>"Because it was hard?" </p><p> </p><p>"Sure. Yeah, it was hard. But it's also," Eve cuts herself off, sucking her teeth, and taking a moment to steel herself before continuing, "Everybody has these preconceived notions of Asian households. Cold, detached, <em>robotic</em>," Eve laughs, and it's humorless, but Villanelle can hear the watery undertone of it, and if she looks a little closer, she thinks she can see a slight shimmer in Eve's eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"It's a lot easier to accept that our people are void of emotion than it is to accept that our families have had to literally sacrifice their entire lives just to make a fucking living in this country. So.. <em>yeah</em>, it was detached. But how could it not be? I can't exactly blame my mom for not giving me the birds and the bees talk, or singing me lullabies every night, because she worked twelve-hour days. Hard to do things when you don't have the time."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's words come tumbling out, sharp and pointy, and Villanelle cuts herself on each one. It feels like an honor. She feels the weight of Eve's words - notices carefully how they bury into her chest - but it is better to feel weight than absence. It is better to hear Eve speak her truth even when it scathing - <em>especially then</em>, actually - than to hear Eve speak of nothing at all. </p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Villanelle hums, quietly, "Nurture."</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is.. the whole argument of nurture vs. nature." Villanelle starts, resting her chin on her knee, "It is much easier for people to accept that we are the way that we are, because we are born that way. That it is our nature. It is much harder for people to accept that we are who we are, because of our environments. How they.. shape us."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, thickly, and her head pounds a little bit, but her body is relishing in the closeness Eve is allowing her, rather than the temperature it is reaching.</p><p> </p><p>"Like your parents. They did what they had to to give you the best life they could, no? But people are idiots. They will point fingers at your parents before they point fingers at the shit circumstances they were given." </p><p> </p><p>The younger woman shrugs, and Eve looks directly at her - eyes forgoing any fixation on the road in favor of locking with Villanelle's. Eve's eyebrows knit together tightly - and though her face is twisted in confusion, her eyes glimmer with a delicate concoction of softness, surprise, <em>awe</em>. It is both beautiful, and devastating.</p><p> </p><p>Eve swallows, letting her eye travel back to the passing pavement, and when she replies, it is no more than a simple, "Yeah.."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you close now?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve hesitates, letting her hands grip the wheel, "Not.. really. I still call them, every couple weeks. But like I said, they weren't happy with the path I carved out for myself. They gave up everything to make this life for us, and I went into journalism. Independent journalism, none the less. Not a career that.. rakes the money in exactly," Eve laughs, sardonically.</p><p> </p><p>It is a sound of suppression. She wonders what it is Eve is suppressing? Remorse, shame, maybe something much more simple?</p><p> </p><p>"You are guilty?" </p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do you feel guilty?"</p><p> </p><p>"I.. don't know if that's the right word for it. I knew that I had to live my own life, or else I would never be happy. Otherwise, they would have sacrificed everything and I'd just be.. miserable. But I still feel the pressure, I guess." Eve exhales, straightening her posture, "Maybe I feel the guilt of.. not being a fucking doctor or something. Not being able to retire them some day."</p><p> </p><p>"Ah," Villanelle replies, quietly. </p><p> </p><p>She tightens her legs around her knees, and she lets her eyes fall away from Eve as she tries to understand. The younger woman can relate to the feeling of pressure - but not from an external source.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle grew up, and made a life for herself, if only to prove to herself that she could. She did not have a father to invite to her college graduation, she does not have a mother to tell her she is proud, and so, she relies on herself for these affirmations. And she <em>is </em>proud of herself, but but there is something objectively special about having <em>somebody </em>to be proud of you. Konstantin tells her all the time, and she feels it - but it feels like an attempt of trying to fill a void, trying to fill a gaping hole with spackle. It does the job, but you can still poke your finger through it you apply enough force.</p><p> </p><p>But she does not feel that pressure in the way Eve feels it. The pressure of unmet expectations; of owing a debt to her parents that she could never pay back. It is a precarious situation - to live an unfulfilling live to ensure your parent's happiness, or to live your truth and let them down along the way. She can relate, yes, but can she fully understand? Probably not. It is hard for her to stomach, because she wants to understand. She wants to allow Eve that comfort.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises her chin from her knee before saying, "I am glad you are not a doctor, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs at that, raising two eyebrows, "Uh.. thank you?" She pauses, before adding, "Actually, I don't know whether I should be offended or not."</p><p> </p><p>"You would probably be good at that, because you are cold and straight-forward," Eve scoffs, and Villanelle continues, "but then you would not be Eve. You would not be living your truth. It is impossible to live our truth without letting people down, along the way. It is just especially hard when those people are the people who birthed you."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle works with what she <em>can</em>understand. She knows the feeling of letting people down; she can offer an aspect of camaraderie to Eve in that way, in the very least. She let her father down, after all. She could not make life worth living enough to keep him around.</p><p> </p><p>Eve purses her lips, and her hands relax a little against the wheel, "That was.. insightful." </p><p> </p><p>"Do you think it affected you?" Villanelle pauses, thoughtfully, before clarifying, "The feeling of detachment?" </p><p> </p><p>"I mean, probably." Eve shrugs, "I don't really think about it."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth parts slightly at that. She has to make a physical effort to purse her lips back together, as to not look so shocked. <em>That</em>is something she can not understand. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thinks about the way her mother and father affect her, all of the time. Consciously, and subconsciously. She can not help it. She fantasizes about a life where she is well-adjusted, and she maintains a hyperawareness of all of the ways she falls short of this. She craves to be free of it, and, <em>sure</em>, she doesn't take any active steps toward real resolution, but she is still.. <em>aware</em>of it. Of using sex to feel something, of avoiding intimacy in fear of feeling something, of throwing herself into work to distract herself from feeling something. She is aware of all of the things.</p><p> </p><p>But, Eve? Eve does not even think about it. She does not even consider the fact that her detached nature probably stems from the environment she grew up in. Eve wears a sign on her forehead, in red letters that says, "<em>Do not get too close</em>," but the older woman doesn't question how it came to hang there in the first place. Or, she works very hard to maintain a perfect ignorance of it. Villanelle forgets to respond - she becomes very preoccupied with considering whether it is the former, or the latter. </p><p> </p><p>She's glad that Eve continues talking, because she ends up not having much of a response to give to that one. She figures a <em>that's interesting because I've spent the last week trying to figure out if you feel anything that isn't anger or curiosity</em> would not be very comforting.</p><p> </p><p>"It wasn't all bad," Eve continues, biting her lip. "My Auntie immigrated too, a few years after my parents did. She moved to New York - <em>Greenport</em>, near the city. When I got a little older, my parents would let me go stay the weekends with her. She was a lot less... <em>restrained </em>than my parents."</p><p> </p><p>A ghost of smile comes to dance around Eve's lips, the flicker of reminisce settling into her eyes. It is clear that the older woman cherishes whatever moments she's reflecting upon - glimpses of light in an otherwise dreary adolescence.</p><p> </p><p>"We would make dumplings together, and watch shitty Kdramas. She was the first person to take me to city, and that was the moment everything changed. That I knew there was life outside of New Hope. Culture. Livelihood. People who looked like me. It was the first time in my life I didn't feel <em>othered</em>.." Eve deflates into the driver's seat, not defeated but relaxed, "It's what got me through the rest of my formative years. I had something to look forward to, something to strive for."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can't help the small smile that tugs at her lips, as she watches Eve settle into a feeling of comfort. A rare sight, and it makes Villanelle very curious about the woman who is able to spawn such reaction from Eve.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you still close with your Aunt?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, we're close. When I was living in New York, we would get Hot Pot every week. Obviously we don't do that right now, but I still call every week. It's always been easier to talk with her. She didn't try so hard to assimilate into American culture, like my parents did." Eve shrugs, "She always encouraged me to.. <em>live my truth</em>, like you said. She encouraged me to go to school for Journalism. She encouraged me to leave Niko, but not for the same reasons my parents did. She would always tell me he was slowing me down, that he wasn't right for me." </p><p> </p><p>"She sounds like a smart woman." The words leave Villanelle's lips before she can stop them, but it is fine. She probably would not have stopped them, if she had the chance anyways.</p><p> </p><p>Eve snorts at that, but it's not vindictive, this time. It's honest, and Eve nods before continuing, "She is. She just accepts life for what it is. My mom would always chastise her for not going to Church, for not praying, but it never phased her. She always understood, and she always encouraged <em>me</em>to understand, to not judge my parent's behaviors - even when it was hard."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, because Eve's aunt sounds like a smart woman in more ways than one. It is much easier to judge - to assume people as heartless, rather than regard them with complexity and nuance. It is a much harder way to live. Villanelle avoids it when she can. </p><p> </p><p>"You know what's funny?" Eve bites her lip, her face indicating that she is about to say something very <em>unfunny</em>, "My parents are devout christians, like I told you. Like, <em>read-the Bible-every-night </em>devout. But they didn't assume their faith until after they came to the U.S. I think it gave them some hope, of being saved or something. Maybe a secure attachment, when they couldn't find one elsewhere."</p><p> </p><p>Eve relays it, simply, and Villanelle accepts it, simply. It is a simple thing, after all. Life is nonsensical, and people try to make sense of it any way they can. </p><p> </p><p>People try to make sense of things in non-harmful ways, through higher powers and divine intervention, and people try to make sense of things in harmful ways, like blaming a child for their parents death. Villanelle's mom chose the latter, and she is glad to hear Eve's parents chose the former. It is a smart thing to do, when the world fails you.</p><p> </p><p>She wonder what Eve would choose. She wonders what Eve has chosen.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you crave secure attachment, Eve?" Villanelle asks, curiously; any non-chalance that had been lingering amongst her words has since long-died out.</p><p> </p><p>"In God?" Eve laughs, dubiously - this time.</p><p> </p><p>Eve has a lot of different laughs, she's finding out.</p><p> </p><p>"In general."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh.." Eve's eyebrows knit together, reminiscent of two magnets trying desperately to connect, but some unspoken force keep them from doing so, "Not really?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's breath leaves her chest, very slowly. It is answer - what she had been hoping for - but it illuminates something she would have preferred to maintain an ignorance about.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, her and Eve are very similar, but their differences are glaring. Divisive. <em>Polarizing</em>. </p><p> </p><p>They are similar in the way where they both had to rely on themselves, growing up. They both had to create places of comfort, in environments where they couldn't find it. They both had to assume strength long before any child should have to. She is grateful for the honesty that Eve has afforded her in this car ride - a slashing of the questions that lingered in Villanelle's mind considering what made Eve.. well, <em>Eve</em>. After hearing them, she has no doubt that her and Eve must have been somewhat similar as children. </p><p> </p><p>If they had met on the playground, they probably have been friends. Villanelle would pull on Eve's hair, and Eve would punch her or something, and the rest would be history. It is a fantasy, though - because Eve grew up thirteen years before she did, and it is an insigfnicant comfort knowing they could have probably been friends as kids. </p><p> </p><p>It is an insignificant comfort, because they grew up; turned into adults.</p><p> </p><p>They coped, and made do. They loved, and lost. They searched, and settled. </p><p> </p><p>But Villanelle is still searching, and Eve is still settling.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is constantly searching for something outside of herself - whether she wants to admit it or not. She searches for her father in poems and paintings, and she searches for love in places where it can't be touched, like Anna. She craves security - as a gift, for once, and not something she has to mold with her own hands. Villanelle has never been a studier of theology - she thinks about destiny, more than she cares to, but she has never put faith into a God, or a higher power. She is reconsidering this, as being saved sounds pretty nice, right now. </p><p> </p><p>Eve does not search, because she has settled. She has accepted life, for what it is and not questioned it further. Eve wastes little time yearning, or longing - not in the way she did entertaining an isolated adolescence in New Hope, Pennsylvania. Eve has found reliance in the only place it seems to be sturdy - within herself. She does not need to carve a space out in her life for something to fit into. Outside of Journalism, and Elena, and missing Bill - there is probably not much room anyways, Villanelle realizes, for God or.. anybody. Eve does not want to be saved, because she has saved herself.</p><p> </p><p>The realization makes Villanelle feel like she could throw up. It has nothing to do with being sick. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, letting her back settle against the passenger door, before sliding down into her seat. She says the only thing her body allows, says it very quietly, "You are very strong, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve, snorts at this, though. Eve who's eyes fill with tears that never fall. Eve who wants, but does not need. Eve who is her own hero, and her own worst enemy. Eve who is much stronger than she is. Eve receives Villanelle words, incredulously.</p><p> </p><p>"Why do you not think it is not true?" Villanelle questions back, because it is obvious. It has always been obvious, Villanelle just didn't know the extent of that strength until now.</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes. Eve unpurses her lips, only to purse them again.</p><p> </p><p>"To be honest with you, I've never felt weaker in my life."</p><p> </p><p>Ah, there it is. That infrequent longing, a rare visitor that pops up in Eve's inflection. She has come to associate it with Bill, exclusively. Eve has given her very little else to associate it with. </p><p> </p><p>"Because you miss Bill?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," a quiet laugh, pain bubbling beneath it - a bubble that won't pop, "yeah, because I miss Bill."</p><p> </p><p>And maybe, that was Eve's one shot at secure attachment outside of herself. The basket she put all of her eggs into, only for the basket to be ripped away. Only remnants of broken eggshells on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>The sweat on Villanelle's palms feels like it could weigh a thousand pounds. Villanelle turns her body so that it faces forward in the driver's seat, before propping her elbow on the window, and letting her temple rest against her palm. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you miss other things?" The younger woman asks, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>She can feel Eve looking at her from the driver's seat, but the blonde keeps her eyes focus on the moving scenery in front of them. She has chosen to be brave with Eve in many ways over the last twenty-four hours. Right now, it much easier to be brave when she does not have to look at her. </p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean?" </p><p> </p><p>"Like Niko. Do you miss Niko?" She tries, again. Desperate for answers that will only hurt her further.</p><p> </p><p>"No." Eve doesn't hesitate before answering this time, as if she's thought about it many times before. The way her tone carries the words makes Villanelle think she has probably thought about it, shamefully, many times. "When I think about our marriage, I just feel relief that its over. I miss him in the way anybody would after spending thirteen years together, but it doesn't.. go <em>further</em>than that."</p><p> </p><p>"You don't miss the intimacy? Having somebody to go to sleep with at the end of the night?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve pauses this time. She wonders if it's because the older woman is picking up on the wavering inflection of Villanelle's voice. Decreasing in volume, increasing in frailty. She'll blame it on being sick, if Eve asks. She doesn't have the energy to fight it right now.</p><p> </p><p>The pause stretches longer than expected, before Eve finally answers.</p><p> </p><p>"Not with Niko, no."</p><p> </p><p>"In general?" </p><p> </p><p>"I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>These three words have quickly become Villanelle's least favorite in the English language.</p><p> </p><p>She guesses the next part.</p><p> </p><p>"Because you don't think about it?" Villanelle throws the words back at Eve, expertly. She has heard them enough times. </p><p> </p><p>"I used to not think about it." Another pause, "I think about it, now." </p><p> </p><p><em>What</em>? What does that mean?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls her head away from her palm, slowly; sluggishly. She chances a glance at Eve, and when she does, Eve's expression is twisted into the tensest one she's seen yet. A jaw clenched with unspoken words, eyebrows knit together with an unplaceable desperation, and eyes wading somewhere distant - visible from the horizon, but only moving farther away from it. </p><p> </p><p>"Why do you think about it now?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve stays quiet, this time. In fact, she doesn't seem like she's going to answer at all.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cuts herself on the silence, too. It is an interesting duality - or lack of, maybe, that both Eve's quiet and Eve's words leave her with blood dripping from her fingertips. The blood is her fault, though, she is realizing now. It is inevitable when you beginning the process of ripping your own heart out. That's what she's doing, no? </p><p> </p><p>She has known Eve more than a week, but less than two. She has paid the price with unyielding thoughts and sleepless nights. She has wasted energy doing mental gymnastics to convince herself it's anything other than what it is, and now her body is paying the price. She thinks about the powerful nature of nameless things. A faceless relationship that she has known for less than two weeks that has the ability to bring her to her knees.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about God, and higher powers, again. She thinks about the act of praying - falling to your knees to offer silent thanks to something faceless, something that can be felt but not seen. She thinks about the power that of hope. But, she thinks about the power of the unknown, too. The unknown of Heaven's Gates, and God, and Hell, but the unknown of human nature. Why people feel drawn to do things that they can't understand.</p><p> </p><p>This is when Elena's words ring in her head for a second time, slicing through the powerful thud of her headache, and when they do, they sound a little more reasonable this time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That's fate, love!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>God, she feels sick. She feels sick for entertaining the idea, but she feels more sick for not having a better explanation as to why her and Eve have managed to affect each other after only knowing each other for ten days. It makes her feel sick, yes, but she feels more sick at the idea of letting Eve slip away - letting her walk away, unchallenged, dragging the rope behind her without looking back. Because Eve would. Eve would walk away, without so much as a glance over her shoulder, bec Villanelle knows it. That makes her sick, too.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't doubt that the space that lingers between Eve and her parents is something that has been put there by Eve, so she doesn't have to face the pain of unmet expectations. She doesn't doubt that she stayed with Niko for thirteen years, because she pushed herself into the habit of accepting. The perfect habit of not wanting, or needing anything, further. Eve is strong in many ways, but she is not strong when it comes to facing herself.</p><p> </p><p>Which is fine, because Villanelle isn't either.</p><p> </p><p>But she is not strong enough to pack up and leave Franklin, and pack Eve away in a box full of <em>almost's</em>and <em>maybe'</em>s. It is yet another way in which they are similar (strong in every way aside from facing their truths) but different (Eve accepts what Villanelle cannot, and vice versa). So, she tries.</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth rounds out a feeble attempt, "We almost kissed this morning."</p><p> </p><p> A tightening of a grip on the steering wheel. More silence. </p><p> </p><p>She is tired of blood, and sweat, and any bodily fluid that is not indicative of pleasure, so she tries again, "Why do you want to kiss me, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes, and then Eve tries, too, "Why do <em>you</em>want to kiss me?"</p><p> </p><p>"I think I've made it perfectly clear why I want to kiss you."</p><p> </p><p>"Have you?" Eve makes a noise that sounds like laughing, but it doesn't fully leave her throat, "Don't get me wrong, Villanelle. I know that you <em>want </em>to kiss me. The why is still a little unclear, though."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle feels her head thrum. A desperate plea from her body to calm down - not over-exert herself because she really doesn't have much to give. She feels her head thrum, yes, but she feels heart thrum a little harder. She wonders if Eve can hear it in the quietness of the car. She wonders if Eve can hear it when she says, "Because I like you, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>God, it feels <em>repulsively</em> elementary. But it's her safest bet. She does not know if there is a word, yet, that encapsulates how she feels about Eve. In fact, when she thinks hard enough, the only one that captures the same intensity is <em>hate</em>. But she does not hate Eve, not even close, and it is a devastating realization. She wonders if it she should just open the car door and send herself tumbling out. She stays put.</p><p> </p><p>She watches as Eve's throat bobs, as the woman tightens her grips on the steering wheel; watches as Eve's body goes through the checklist of everything it can do to steady herself. She watches as Eve's body never full relaxes, as her shoulders never deflate from the level of tenseness keeping them upright, watches as Eve's eyes don't leave the road when she says,</p><p> </p><p>"Okay."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay</em>?" Villanelle releases the word with a sharp laugh. She can't help it. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't know what to say."</p><p> </p><p>The older woman looks back at her, brows knit, and eyes desperately searching Villanelle's for something. But it is something Villanelle can not name because only Eve knows. There is something oddly calming about it. As if the blonde has a leg up, as if she has a <em>I know something you don't know</em>, hanging over Eve's head. But Eve does not know. Not yet.</p><p> </p><p>"No, Eve, you do not know." She says, quietly - not condemning, but truthful. "That is the problem."</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets her eyes return to the road, and she squeezes the steering wheel before saying, "I don't know if I can give you what you want, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle exhales. She can't help the small, sad smile that tugs at her lips. </p><p> </p><p>"It does not matter what I want, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"It does not matter, because I <em>know </em>what I want."</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>"You do not."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth parts at that, and her brows quickly transition from a twist of confusion, to a twist of something argumentative, "That's not.. entirely true."</p><p> </p><p>"Why did you want to kiss me then, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's lips purse. </p><p> </p><p>"To figure something out? To get it out of your system? Or, maybe you didn't think about it much? Maybe you just <em>wanted </em>to?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve lips stay pursed.</p><p> </p><p>"You don't know, do you?"</p><p> </p><p>Silence. Radio <em>silence</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, and she readjusts in her seat to face forward once again, letting herself curl into the passenger side door. The movement places them as far apart as possible, on the truck bench. Space is a funny thing - how you can wedge it between two things that are not supposed to be separate. She does not put space between her and Eve as punishment - even if it feels like one - but she does it because it is necessary. </p><p> </p><p>She lets the space settle between them, letting her eyes flit about the windshield, "You have been very honest with me in this car ride, Eve, and I am grateful for that. I want to know about you, and it does not even matter that you make the process feel like pulling teeth, because I appreciate your honesty. So, it bothers me when you are not honest with yourself."</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't say anything, but the silence doesn't deter her from driving her point home. They've already started the fire, and there is no use putting it out halfway. She watches as she stokes the embers, watches as the glint in Eve's eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"If I were to ask you how you feel about me, how would you respond, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's lip twitches, and when she sees the words start to form on the older woman's lips, she echoes them. Two voices ring out in a harmonious, "I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>Eve eyes widen at that - black and edged with fury - but Villanelle doesn't lose herself in them. She can't afford the distraction, right now. She just laughs.</p><p> </p><p>This is probably the part where she could insert a <em>Told you so</em>, but she does not really feel like peppering the situation with humor. There is nothing humorous about it. It would be easier if she were mad. But, she's not. No, she just feels.. sad. <em>Sick </em>and sad. Terrible combination.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>"If I were to ask you if you even liked me, would you be able to answer that, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't answer this time. The silence speaks for itself.</p><p> </p><p><em>I don't know</em>, or maybe, <em>I don't really think about it</em>. </p><p> </p><p>She is glad that she doesn't hear either of them. It does not lessen the blow, however.</p><p> </p><p>A silent uncertainty is felt the same way as a spoken uncertainty. The only difference with the former, is you can convince yourself that it doesn't exist. But Villanelle has passed the point of unrealistic convincing. She has no choice when she feels Eve in everything she does.</p><p> </p><p>She is not sad about having passed the point, <em>no</em>. She is sad that she has to wait for Eve to catch up. It is not the same devastation that came along with Anna - the realization of feeling something that the other person does not. The realization that comes along with Eve is much different; much more dangerous. It is the devastation of not being able to deny what exists so truthfully, but watching as the other person denies themselves the allowance to feel it.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know what I want, Villanelle." Eve admits it, anyways. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle would usually roll her eyes at such an obvious admittance, would usually shake her head at a such a needless use of words - but Eve is being honest. That's what she wants, more than anything. Eve's truths. </p><p> </p><p>"That is fine." She inhales, and breathes out the words with her exhale, "But, you should really figure it out." </p><p> </p><p>It is a conclusion. A means to an end.</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks at her, agape, and Villanelle just shrugs. She has nothing left to give her - she has already given Eve a starting point, but it is up to the older woman to figure the rest out for herself. </p><p> </p><p>The blonde readjusts in her seat to slouch against the passenger side door. She moves her head from side to side, trying to find a comfortable position to rest her neck, because she is finally going to succumb to what her body has been begging her for. Eve watches the whole thing, unmoving, until she finally blurts, "What are you doing?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle finally settles for resting her temple against the coolness of the passenger-side window, drawing her legs up to her chest, and wrapping her arms around them. She closes her eyes before responding, "I am going to sleep. I am very tired, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't have to look to know Eve is sputtering, opening her mouth and reclining it before finally letting words pass. Another blurt, "How are you so unfazed right now?!"</p><p> </p><p>Oh, she is very fazed. But she will not tell Eve, that. If Eve is entitled to a thousand lies, she must be entitled to at least one. It is more of omittance of the truth, anyways.</p><p> </p><p>"Why would I be fazed, Eve? There is time," she says, without opening her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>And with that, the ball that has been bouncing around in her body, has been passed into Eve's court. Out of her hands, and out of her control. She wonders if it will rattle Eve's insides, like it has been doing to hers for the past week. She wonders if Eve will grab onto it, master it, until it no longer bounces. She wonders if Eve will let it fall into the depths of her body, never to be seen again. She wonders if Eve will master the art of losing.</p><p> </p><p>It is the stretch of quiet that takes place, that finally allows her to open her eyes. When she does, Eve's eyes are on her, not the road, and Villanelle raises her eyebrows, "..Yes?"</p><p> </p><p>"You said there's.. time." The word leaves Eve's tongue as more of a question, than a statement. As if she's flabbergasted at Villanelle's offering of such a thing.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve. Time?" Villanelle raises her eyebrows further, "It is that thing that makes you thirty-nine. The thing that makes me twenty-six. The thing that makes today today, and yesterday yesterday. You have heard of it before, no?"</p><p> </p><p>That breaks whatever statue-esque spell Eve had briefly been put under. The older woman rolls her eyes, before fixing her gaze back on the passing pavement. She shakes her head, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips, "You don't really strike me at the type to wait around."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's blood runs cold at that - because her body wants to scream, <em>Yes. Yes, I will wait, Eve</em>. Her blood runs cold because she would probably wait for Eve for a very long time. But, she will not wait. Because Villanelle does not make the same mistake twice.</p><p> </p><p>Because if Eve can not make up her mind, she will not wait around on bruised knees, begging with silent prayers. Because she will not let Eve become another Anna. It is up to Eve how she will use her time, and if nothing comes of that, then Villanelle will move on. It is very simple.</p><p> </p><p>Her blood runs cold on the inside, but her body remains impassive on the outside. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I'm not," she says, simply, before settling more comfortably into her seat, "That is why I said you should figure it out."</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't say anything after that. Villanelle watches the robotic slowness of her movements as her hands hang lazily on the steering wheel, watches as Eve's eyes maintain an icy gaze, but she closes her eyes when she realizes she can't watch the bob of Eve's throat.</p><p> </p><p>But she feels it after she closes her eyes anyways - the repressed tears hiding in Eve's body, the dizzying spell of their almost-kiss bouncing around in the contained space, the subtle fear lingering between them, the way Eve drives erratically as result.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't comment on it.</p><p> </p><p>If Eve crashes the truck, it would not be so bad. The truck is cursed, Villanelle is convinced, full of tears, and sweat, and the first signs of heart-break. If the truck were to meet its fate in a fiery collision of flames, then so be it. At least something new could be rebuilt in its place. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>fun fact: I scrapped half of this chapter to rewrite it. things were about to go in a way diff direction, but now that will live on as a draft, never to see the light of day! and before you ask, yes it was literally just angst</p><p>if it's not clear by now, I am coming out on chapter 7 as an angst writer. I live my truths but I try to combat them, too! but before you yell at me for this chapter, go read the next one and yell at me over there :0)</p><p>also! it feels so special for me to engage with ya'll and I was so happy to see some of you left your @'s in the comments of my last chapter. I decided to make a twitter connected to this account: @turtleduckxo!<br/>I'd love to keep engaging with ya'll, and I'm a total slug when it comes to keeping up with that stuff but feel free to yell at me over there too! </p><p>all my love! xoxo</p><p>translation: </p><p> </p><p>дерьмо = shit</p><p>I always want to be thoughtful about the way I incorporate languages I do not speak, into my fics.. so if you notice an error, please feel free to let me know in the comments! thank you!</p><p>P.S. - nearly every blondie song is villaneve compatible. fun fact</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle doesn't leave her hotel room for four days. </p><p> </p><p>When they had finally pulled back up to the hotel room, Eve insisted on helping her up to her room. She thought it was very silly - she did not have a terminal illness, for God's sake - but she figured she would allow Eve the comfort of feeling helpful, after such a shit car ride.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle took a grandiose three steps in, before collapsing on her bed. Eve, lingered for a bit, making comments about the suite - <em>I'm not going to lie, I was expecting a penthouse</em> and <em>It's nice to see that you can live like the rest of us </em>- and Villanelle doesn't have the energy to tell her that there are no luxury hotels in Franklin. Villanelle doesn't have the energy to give much in way of response, and so, eventually Eve leaves, and Villanelle lets her because she doesn't have the energy to ask her to stay. </p><p> </p><p>After Eve leaves, she calls the rental truck company to let them know she'll be renting the truck for an unspecified amount of time. They try to argue something about <em>policies </em>and <em>late fees, </em>to which she responds with a <em>Great, charge it to the card</em>, before hanging up. </p><p> </p><p>She throws the phone across her room, running through a mental checklist of anything else she should do she willingly submerges her self into a comatose state. She gets as far as:</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li>Call Konstantin to let him know that the project is on a very brief hiatus</li>
<li>Try to order the rest of the furniture for Carolyn's master bedroom</li>
<li>Do not think about Eve</li>
</ul><p> </p><p>And when she falls asleep, she does so having completed nothing on the list. She falls asleep thinking about the softness of Eve's <em>almost's </em>and the feeling of Eve's breath on her lips.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She sleeps on-and-off for fifteen hours. It is a new record. </p><p> </p><p>She wakes up the next day, at, 8 AM. She does not feel any better, but she does not feel any worse, so she will take it as a victory rather than a loss. When she checks her phone, she sees she has a missed call from Konstantin, and three texts from Elena. </p><p> </p><p>She bites her lip, opening the thread, and sees:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Elena: V, what the FUCK happened in that ski resort</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Elena: seriously, Eve has been in a mood. like mega mood. even for Eve</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She sees the last two texts were sent late last night, three hours after the first two:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Elena: ok, heard you're sick. very sorry xo please get better soon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Elena: but we are catching up as soon as you're better!! 😱</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow at that. It ties a tight knot in her stomach - the thought that Elena probably knows more than Villanelle does. She clicks out of the thread, in favor of calling Konstantin back.</p><p> </p><p>It only has to ring twice, before his grizzly voice carries through the speaker, "Villanelle! You have not called in days. I was starting to get worried. But I checked the credit card statements and saw that you made a purchase two days ago."</p><p> </p><p>"Of course you did," she grumbles, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was a mistake to call Konstantin first. She should have called downstairs to get her hands on some more of that Ibuprofen first. </p><p> </p><p>"Where is Bolton?" He asks, curiously.</p><p> </p><p>"Two hours from Franklin." </p><p> </p><p>"Ah. It is very unlike you to go out of your way for furniture."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, it was a very beautiful piece. And I stayed in a very fancy ski resort, so." She shrugs her shoulders, even though he can not see. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I saw that. Also on the company credit card." He grumbles, dismayed, but he does not reprimand her, because he knows better. "Are you okay? You sound.. off, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"No. I am very sick." She replies, simply, burying her face into the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>He lets out a loud hyuck at that. She rolls her eyes, and waits for him to finish. </p><p> </p><p>When he does, she chimes in with a, "I am serious, Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>You</em>? No!" His laughter rounds out his words, but it dies a little when she doesn't respond, "What? I have known you six years. Six years, you do not get sick."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," she grunts.</p><p> </p><p>"What, Villanelle? Are you serious?" She can feel his concern through the phone, and it just makes her head hurt a little more, "How did this happen? When was the last time you even got sick?"</p><p> </p><p>"Seven years ago. After Anna dumped me." She replies, bluntly. She has told him this before, but she can't blame him for not remembering. It is an insignificant detail in a very significant story. </p><p> </p><p>"That's right," he mumbles, and she can hear the sound of his fingers scratching against his beard. When the sound stops, his voice carries through cautiously, "Are you still seeing this woman in Franklin? This <em>friend</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>She guffaws, coughing a little bit in the process, before stating, "Wow, Konstantin. Just because the last time I got sick was because of Anna, does not mean I get sick every time I have a new romantic interest."</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, quietly, "No, of course not. That would be silly. You do not have romantic interests." </p><p> </p><p>"I am, though."</p><p> </p><p>"You are what?" </p><p> </p><p>"Still seeing her."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" He screeches into the phone, and Villanelle can picture his eyes if she focuses hard enough. Big, and blue, and bulging out of his head. It is a very funny image.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, she came to Bolton with me." She tells him, simply.</p><p> </p><p>She does not know why she is telling him. It is easy to talk about Eve this way - simply, as if the thought of her name doesn't bring the sensation of pins and needles to Villanelle's skin. It is also just funny to get a reaction from Konstantin - she needs the humor.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle. Should I be worried?" His voice has transformed into something <em>very</em>cautious now, something a little fearful, almost. It is very funny, for some reason.</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe." She says, but before he can yell into the phone again, she diverts the conversation. Konstantin's voice is obtrusive, as is - but when she has a headache, it is reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. "Anyways, the project will be on hiatus for a few days."</p><p> </p><p>She hears the sound of him running his hand over his face, before he sighs into the phone. "Oh, this is.. not so good, Villanelle. Not good at all."</p><p> </p><p>She frowns, picking her face up from the pillow, "Why do I have the feeling you are talking about this thing with Carolyn instead of me being sick? I hope that I am not right, Konstantin, because that would be very hurtful." </p><p> </p><p>"No, no," he clears his through, correcting himself, "you need to rest, Villanelle. Take your time. Get better." </p><p> </p><p>"Good, because I am on my death-bed."</p><p> </p><p>"You are twenty-six. Don't be dramatic."</p><p> </p><p>"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Konstantin, but young, dramatic, people die all the time."</p><p> </p><p>"Not you."</p><p> </p><p>"No," she sighs, woefully, "not me."</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes, and her curiosity wins out, so she asks, "Are you seriously still stressed about this Carolyn bullshit?"</p><p> </p><p>He sighs into the phone, and she images him leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto his desk. He probably looks like shit. She can tell. "Yes, I just.. I want it to be over, Villanelle." </p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, before he adds, "Maybe I should come to Franklin? If you are behind, then I can help you get back on track. It has been a while since we have worked together. It could be fun."</p><p> </p><p>Wow, he <em>is </em>desperate for this to be over with. Konstantin is a busy man - she knows this. He oversees many projects, and he definitely does not have the time to fly out to Pennsylvania. The thought makes her nauseous. Konstantin coming to Pennsylvania would probably slash their time in half. They would probably get the house done in less than two weeks - between the two of them. The words she spoke to Eve yesterday, ring in her head,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why would I be fazed, Eve? There is time.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"No," she blurts, a little too hurriedly for it to sound natural. "No, do not do that. I will still finish on time. I just may not finish as early, as expected." </p><p> </p><p>"I thought you would miss me by now, Villanelle. That hurts."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, do not pretend like you are doing it to see me either, Konstantin. You are just love-sick."</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, and it sounds a little pained, and then the line stays silent for a few beats.</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin is old as shit, and he still experiences heart-break. It does not inspire much hope for her future, but it does inspire curiosity. Insight - from one of the few people she trusts in this world. Maybe the only person she trusts.</p><p> </p><p>"Can I ask you something, Konstantin?"</p><p> </p><p>"Always, отродье." He replies, playfully.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up."</p><p> </p><p>"What is it?" He asks, a little more curiously this time.</p><p> </p><p>"You are very old." He scoffs, and she continues, "So is Carolyn. What is the use in beating around the bush, at your age? I mean, seriously. What do you have to lose?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ah. It is.. not so simple, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"Isn't it?"</p><p> </p><p>"No."</p><p> </p><p>"Why?"</p><p> </p><p>"We are both very old, as you so kindly put it. We have established our own lives. We are very busy." He repeats these things, mechanically, as if he is reading from a mental checklist he had made. "Just because you love somebody does not mean everything gets to come together, easily."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs, "Of course, it is not easy."</p><p> </p><p>A beat, and then he asks to clarify, "What do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is love, Konstantin. It is recounted for being many things. <em>Ugly</em>. Devastating. Probably not worth it, but I have not heard anybody ever say it was easy. This is something even I know."</p><p> </p><p>The line stays quiet, and she wishes she could put her hands through the phone, and shake him by those gargantuan shoulders of his. She can tell when Konstantin just needs some sense slapped into him, and this is one of those moments. </p><p> </p><p>It is not like she is invested in rooting for him and Carolyn, but she <em>is </em>invested in not letting him wear blinders - like an oversized horse, trying to keep the flies away from his eyes. God, the one person in the world that she gives a shit about, and it has to be somebody as senseless as Konstantin. </p><p> </p><p>"God," she uses her free hand to rub at one of her temples, flipping onto her back, "You are really going to make me spell it out for you, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm afraid you might have to, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"You care for her, no? You <em>love </em>her, even?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure." He says, and Villanelle groans. "Fine, <em>yes</em>. I love her."</p><p> </p><p>"That is the easy part. We do not get to choose what we care about. We just.. do. It is the shit part of being human. It is making it work that is the hard part." She pauses, before adding,  "We have to make time for the things we care about, Konstantin. If we want them to work."</p><p> </p><p>A long silence stretches over the phone. She hears him readjust in his office chair, before saying, "It is not so simple, Villanelle. We are both business-owners. Time is not a luxury."</p><p> </p><p>She lets her run over her face, pausing to cup over her mouth and suppress a groan, before she blurts, "Fine. Then you can die alone. I do not care. I was just trying to be helpful."</p><p> </p><p>He chuckles, before saying, "I will not die alone. You will be there!"</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, I do not know if I will stick around. You are <em>very </em>annoying."</p><p> </p><p>His chuckles carry through the phone in quiet vibrations until they die out completely. When they do, his voice quiets a bit, "I am a bit worried about you, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"Why?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is unlike you to be so.. insightful. You do not usually walk around, giving out advice." He interjects, before she can, "On your own accord, I mean. Work does not count."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't have anything to say to that, so she just grunts.</p><p> </p><p>"Is it because of this woman?"</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't have anything to say to that, either, so she makes no noise at all.</p><p> </p><p>"What is her name?"</p><p> </p><p>"Why do you care?"</p><p> </p><p>"Because I care. And I am making time for things I care about. So, what is her name?"</p><p> </p><p>Wow, it took her approximately one minute to regret giving Konstantin advice. She makes a mental note to never do it again.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, closing her eyes, before saying, "Eve."</p><p> </p><p>The line goes quiet again, and then Konstantin laughs cuts through. Loud and booming, and she has to pull the phone away from her ear. She waits for it to stop, but when it doesn't, she barks into the phone, "<em>What</em>? Why is that so funny?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ah," He continues to laugh, interjecting the words between the sounds, "You are in deep shit, мой ребенок."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you losing your mind? God, you sound insane."</p><p> </p><p>The laughter resides slowly, but doesn't disappear completely, "What do I always say, Villanelle?"</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"The one thing I always say. What is it?"</p><p> </p><p>"I do not know. You say many stupid things. It is hard to keep track of all of them." </p><p> </p><p>"About knowledge."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows knit together, trying to understand where this is going, "Knowledge is power." </p><p> </p><p>It is not an abstract saying. It is one everybody knows, in one way or another. But Konstantin has taken to instilling it in Villanelle every chance he gets - ever since before she graduated college, and long after she decorated her first home. She doesn't know why the man feels the need to intertwine it into an endless cycle of repetition - she agrees, after all.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." He laughs, once more, for good measure. "Do you really not get it?"</p><p> </p><p>"No. I'm actually a little concerned for your mental state."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, if you still do not get it in an hour, text me and I will tell you." A pause, "I thought you were smarter than this, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"Bye, Konstantin!" She barks into the phone, hanging up before she can hear his response.</p><p> </p><p>She throws her phone across the room, only to trudge out of bed exactly one hour later, and pick it up. She sighs in defeat, before shooting a text off to Konstantin:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Care to elaborate? Or were you actually just having a stroke?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She does not have to wait long, before her phone buzzes in her hand:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Konstantin: Knowledge is power</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>????</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Konstantin: What tree did Eve pick the apple from again? I can't remember</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares at her phone, long after she has registered the words. It is the stupidest thing she has ever heard. She does not respond, but Konstantin texts her back a few minutes later. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Konstantin: The Tree Of Knowledge</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Konstantin: Hahahaha</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't respond to that, either. She just goes back to sleep.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She wakes up, later in the evening, still sweaty and very hungry. She gets up to get some water, letting it coat the dryness of her throat, before checking her phone. </p><p> </p><p>She has three texts from Eve.</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>I left some pho outside of your door</em></p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>:<em> I would have brought it inside, but you didn't answer when I knocked</em></p><p> </p><p>The third one, was sent a couple hours after the first two. It reeks of pining: </p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>I assume it's because you were sleeping. Or maybe you're mad?</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, before opening her hotel room and carrying the plastic bag inside.  She feels many things, but anger is not one of them - however, she can not begin to unpack that while she is disturbingly malnourished. She heats the soup up in the microwave, rubbing her temples in an attempt to dull the buzzing of her headache, until the microwave beeps. She pulls the container out, ripping the lid off, before spooning broth into her mouth and promptly burning herself in the process.</p><p> </p><p>She slows down after that - chewing the noodles, and sipping broth, until she feels some semblance of consciousness start to return into her body. When she feels a little more human, she pulls her phone out to shoot a text off to Eve:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Not mad, Eve. I slept for many hours 😴</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Thank you for the soup. It is very delicious</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The response comes immediately, and it makes Villanelle smile. She pictures Eve, hands in her hair, waiting by her phone:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎</span> I can bring more tomorrow? After work? If you're feeling up to it</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That sounds nice</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎</span>: Okay, good. Well I will talk to you tomorrow then!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She can feel Eve's antsy energy through the texts, and it makes her want to poke it. She considers sending Eve a text back that reads: <em>have you been doing your homework? </em>but she figures it is probably better to not push, or pull, right now. But, she does relish in the fantasy of Eve sitting at the bar top - a pros and cons list in front of her. She wonders what would be on it, if Eve was the type to make lists rather than spontaneous decisions.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Pros: Villanelle is sexy</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cons: I am ignorant to everything that is happening at all times</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle chuckles as she visualizes the list, in her head. Small successes, she reminds herself, small successes. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>On day three, she wakes up feeling substantially better. Not great, by any means, but she can swallow without it feeling like she is trying to swallow a knife. She makes herself coffee with the machine in her hotel room, begrudgingly, adding four creams and three sugars in an attempt to make it drinkable. It allows her the first bout of energy she has felt in 72 hours, and so she decides she should probably do something useful with it, while it is there.</p><p> </p><p>She opens her laptop, and takes to emailing buyers back about potential bed frame. She spends a couple hours, communicating back and forth, before she decides on a Sovereign French Country Turned Wood canopy frame from the Warehouse she had previously ordered from. It is a major piece - one that sets the tone for the rest of the room, and allows Villanelle the ability to purchase other pieces to compliment. She orders a purple tufted Cocktail ottoman to sit at the end of Carolyn's bed, along with with a Versaille Vanity Mirror.</p><p> </p><p>She communicates with the Warehouse, via e-mail this time, because while the <em>shit</em> coffee has allowed her a glimpse of energy, it is not enough to argue with another assistant over the phone. It takes longer, but she is able to confirm her order with Express Shipping, a couple hours later. Express Shipping allows her two days to make a full recovery, because the delivery will arrive the day after tomorrow. If she is not better by then, well, she will have to be. She calls a company to finish the countertops in Carolyn's kitchen on the same day. </p><p> </p><p>She does not prefer to have a full house while she is trying to work, but she will have to accept it, if she wants to get back on track. A full house means more distraction. It is not an unwelcome thing. She closes her laptop, feeling the energy leave her body as quickly as it came, and spends the rest of her afternoon doing.. nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Her body is not capable of more sleep - not after nearly 30 hours of it, on and off, but she does not know what to do with herself. She takes a bath. She flicks through the hotels channels - bouncing between shitty rom-coms, and reality TV, but her eyes never fully focus on the screen. Eventually, she gets so bored, she starts pawing through the hotel drawers.</p><p> </p><p>She finds a Bible. She laughs, and she opens it - because, why not?</p><p> </p><p>She flips through it pages, until her eyes catch sight of a peculiar sentence.</p><p> </p><p>Romans 12:9: <em>Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.</em></p><p> </p><p>She lets her eyebrows knit as she re-reads the words, over and over, again. She reads them a few times, until she closes the book altogether. <em>Hate what is evil, cling to what is good</em>. Yes, very simple. Easy to understand. But what about things that are both evil and good? Is it possible to cling to something, and to hate it at the very same time?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle knows it is. The Bible does not have to say it. She has done it, many times.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Eve does come over that evening. She brings more soup - something she calls <em>Mandu-guk. Korean dumpling soup, </em>Eve clarifies, and Villanelle raises two impressed eyebrows when she comes to find out Eve made it herself. It is <em>very </em>good, Villanelle tells her as much when they sit down to eat it, and Eve smiles at that. Eve smiles, but she does not say much. No, she doesn't say much of anything, for the entire night actually. </p><p> </p><p>They rent one of the movie the hotels has to offer - <em>10 Things I Hate About You</em>. They have both seen it, but not in a while, and Villanelle clicks on it because Eve is not offering much in the way of opinion. Eve is not offering much - in the way of anything, really. She maintains a perfect distance from Villanelle the whole evening - sat like a statue, on the edge of the bed, and the whole thing is very off-putting.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if their conversation in the truck broke Eve, in some regard, because the woman is eerily quiet. She would be gravely concerned, if she could not hear the subtle pounding of Eve's thoughts, from her place on the bed. Villanelle knows that it is only a matter of time - until the thoughts pile up, until Eve can't contain them anymore, until the seal breaks and everything comes tumbling out. But Villanelle sighs, because she has a feeling that will not be happening tonight. And when Eve leaves with a quiet <em>good night</em>, she confirms this. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>On day four, Villanelle feels mostly fine. She still doesn't get out of bed, much. She sleeps, even when her body tries to force her to stay awake. She eats leftovers of Eve's soup, even when her body tries to tell her she is not hungry. She works, even when her brain is begging her to slow down. She thinks of Eve, even her heart tries to fight it. She perseveres. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Day five goes about as exactly as Villanelle expected. She wakes up feeling fine - nearly 100%, aside from the occasional sniffle, but almost a complete recovery. It is amazing what the body can do, when you will it to do so. She had left her hotel early, in order to drive the U-haul to Carolyn's well before the movers showed up. She clears spaces around the house, in order to make it easy to move the furniture upstairs, and when she finishes, the delivery truck pulls up, <em>and</em> so does the truck full of workers arriving to refinish the countertops in Carolyn's kitchen. An image of chaos ensues. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has to yell to guide the people carrying the bed frame up the stairs just to be heard over the chatter in the home, workers having to step around each other in order to do their jobs, the smell of solvents carrying through the air as the countertops begin to be worked on, and the sound of hammers from upstairs as people work to assemble the bed frame.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, it is an image of chaos, but she welcomes the business after aching days of nothing but thinking. When she sits down on the couch, in the middle of the chaos, to continue her work, she blends into it. She swears she almost forgets about Eve completely.</p><p> </p><p>She orders a dining room table for kitchen, before shooting a text off to to Konstantin to let her know work is well underway, and that he will absolutely not need to be coming to Franklin.</p><p> </p><p>When her phone buzzes, it is not because of a message from Konstantin, but Elena. </p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>are you back from the dead yet! we have to talk!! i'm dying over here V </em></p><p> </p><p>She sighs, looking at the thread of texts from Elena that she has yet to reply to. It is not because she did not want to, no - but she had really just forgotten. She briefly entertains the idea that she could squeeze information out of Elena, but the idea makes her stomach knot.</p><p> </p><p>For two reasons: firstly, Elena is too good of a friend to ever impede on what Eve tells her in confidence, and secondly, she respects Eve a little too much to go prying around for information behind her back.</p><p> </p><p>It is a devastating realization. Especially when Eve has maintained radio silence ever since leaving her hotel room two nights ago. She texts Elena back:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do you ever regard anything with a normal level of interest? Or are you always this.. excited?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>do you really need me to answer that</em></p><p> </p><p><em>No</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>come meet me tonight! I'm off at 10. we can go back to mine</em></p><p> </p><p><em>Fine</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Elena: 😍 <em>can't wait!!</em></p><p> </p><p>She puts her phone down when the workers call down to let her know the frame has been assembled. She makes her way up the staircase, and into the room. The bed frame is beautiful - gigantic, and regal. It is not something to be pushed into the corner, so she guides the workers to recenter it in the middle of the room. After that, they move the vanity to each wall so that Villanelle can see which area of the room will allow for the best lighting. She decides to keep it on wall, opposite the window, and she pushes the ottoman to the foot of Carolyn's bed. With that, they continue on to unloading the rest of the furniture from the U-haul.</p><p> </p><p>When she returns downstairs, the smell of solvent is a little nauseating. The workers are nearly done refinishing the countertops, but her freshly-recovered body will not stick around to see it through. She leaves the house to go grab another coffee - because while her energy is beautifully in-tact, she does not want to see it dissipate any time soon. Not when she has already made such successful strides. She returns to the mom and pop coffee shop down the street, the one she had visited on her second day in Franklin.</p><p> </p><p>The bell chimes when she pushes the door open, and she is greeted by a pair of familiar, surprised eyes from behind the counter. The young brunette woman's mouth forms into a perfect O, and Villanelle allows a small smile as she tries to remember the name of woman she never called. She gives up, letting her eyes flicker to the woman's name tag. <em>Juliet</em>. Right.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh, hi." Juliet fumbles, straightening up and running a hand through her hair, before crossing her arms, "I didn't expect to see you again."</p><p> </p><p>"Why not?" Villanelle quirks a brow, curiously. She lets her hands bury into her pockets as she takes slow strides to the counter. Juliet gulps as she nears. Villanelle lets her eyes watch the movement of her throat.</p><p> </p><p><em>Wow</em>, she nearly forgot how easy this is. She hasn't had a chance to remember since she has only been with Eve for the past two weeks. She nearly forgot than anything can be easy.</p><p> </p><p>"You never called." Juliet admits, and a flustered blush comes to rest upon her cheeks. Villanelle raises two eyebrows at that, and she catches her lip between her teeth to keep from smiling. Juliet's straightforwardness is.. impressive, yes. Most people would try to avoid the mention of a rejection at any cost, but she brought it up herself. </p><p> </p><p>"That's right." Villanelle hums, leaning her hip against the counter, "I threw the cup away. My mistake," she shrugs, with a polite smile, before letting her eyes linger on the menu behind the young woman.</p><p> </p><p>Since when is she one to be polite? Or lie, at the expense of another person's comfort? Perhaps, she has been on the end of Eve's tiny rejections for so long, that it is forcing her into a place of.. <em>mercy</em>. Perhaps, she is not interested in making Juliet feel the way she has felt the past two weeks. <em>Shitty</em>. Very shitty. </p><p> </p><p>"It was an accident?" Juliet asks, and Villanelle can't believe the subtle inflection of hope that bubbles in the young woman's tone. "I thought you weren't interested." </p><p> </p><p>Okay. Straight-forward. Persistent, too.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle fidgets a little bit, biting her lip and raising a brow, as she looks from Juliet to the menu behind her. She can't shake the feeling of the young woman's optimistic eyes on her. She sighs, before saying, "It is not exactly possible to gauge interest off of one interaction, is it?"</p><p> </p><p>Again. Another lie. It is <em>definitely </em>possible. More than half of the people Villanelle has slept with has been based off of one interaction. Sometimes, not even one interaction. It is possible to gauge interest by eye contact, alone.</p><p> </p><p>What is she doing? </p><p> </p><p>Juliet smiles at that, placing her palms on the counter and leaning forward. Villanelle can't help the way she leans back, slight enough to only barely be visible. Juliet doesn't seem to notice, because she says, "How about we fix that? Are you free tonight?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows shoot to her hairline. Her body desperately tries to plead with her brain - <em>say no, lie since you seem to be so good at it now, make up an excuse. </em>She struggles to respond, because it is the first time she has struggled with something like this.</p><p> </p><p>If she is not interested in somebody, she rejects them.</p><p> </p><p>It is as simple as that. </p><p> </p><p>But her body feels like it should be interested in Juliet - <em>sure</em>, the woman is a little eager, but she is beautiful, and confident, and Villanelle likes these two qualities. But the ache stabs in her stomach, and she has felt it enough times to identify what it is now. It is the feeling of Eve. </p><p> </p><p>A small portion of her body that Eve has carved out, and buried herself into so that Villanelle carries her with her, even when she is not around. She wonders if she should tell Juliet this?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'd love to, but unfortunately, I can't seem to want to fuck anybody except for this woman who seems be having a mid-life crisis surrounding touching me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm spoken for. I'm completely spoken for, by a woman who does not speak. No, she will not even name how she feels about me. Funny, huh?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But she will not say either of these things. Because she is not spoken for, and while her body seems to feign loyalty to Eve, her brain knows it makes no sense. They are not in a relationship - any type of relationship, to be clear - that would warrant her rejection of Juliet. So maybe she is not feeling merciful, maybe her saying <em>Yes </em>to Juliet has a lot more to do with own selfish desire to prove something to herself, than it has anything to do with the woman in front of her. So, that is what she says:</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle offers, impassively, "I am free until 10."</p><p> </p><p>Juliet's smile beams, and this is the part that should make her feel good, no? This is the part that makes people accept those that they want to reject? Reveling in the other person's comfort? But Juliet's smile doesn't curl the way Eve's does, and really, it just makes her feel a little annoyed. </p><p> </p><p>"That's perfect! I'm off at 7!" She bounces on her heels, and Villanelle watches with wide eyes, "Wanna meet me here? I know the perfect place we can go," she adds, with a wink.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Okay</em>," Villanelle mouths, silently, complacent and grossed out by herself, "Um, I do not want to.. kill the moment, but I did actually come here for a coffee." </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, of course! Vanilla latte with oat milk, like last time?" </p><p> </p><p>She pauses, "Yes, actually."</p><p> </p><p>Attentive, too.</p><p> </p><p>Juliet remembered her coffee order after one visit. She pays attention to Villanelle. Eve does not remember such things - she has gotten Villanelle caramel lattes instead of vanilla, and almond milk instead of oat, when the blonde is not around to remind her. Yes, Eve is very.. imprecise in that way. But, Juliet is not. </p><p> </p><p>Juliet gives her her coffee on the house, and Villanelle insists - out of guilt, more than anything. But the brunette woman doesn't allow it, so she thanks her, and turns to leave to the coffee shop. She hesitates before she exits, one hand on the door, before turning around, "Juliet."</p><p> </p><p>The brunette woman looks at her with watchful eyes, curious and enchanted. "Yes?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, I do not how to say these things.. because I usually do not say such <em>shit</em> things. But I would prefer if this were not a date." She relays succinctly, and she watches as Juliet's shoulders deflate, but she also watches as the woman's eyes do not lose their determination. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure! Just.. hanging out, then." Juliet smiles, but it's edged with something motivated, and Villanelle recognizes it because her smile tends to be edged with that very same thing. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay." Villanelle shakes her head to rid herself of the small discomfort it creates, before pushing herself out of the door, "Bye."</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The workers finish the countertops around 6:45 PM, long after the delivery drivers had moved the rest of the furniture into the house. Villanelle groans. Some part of her wished that they would have fucked something up, had to stay late, so that she would have a reason to cancel on her impromptu not-date. But they did not, so she sees them out, and she locks up the house, before making her way towards the shit Cafe once more today. </p><p> </p><p>When she arrives, Juliet is standing outside. She regards Villanelle with an eager wave, which the blonde returns - much less eagerly. Juliet has rid herself of her apron. She is dressed down in a low-cut V neck, and high waisted trousers. She has a beautiful body, and she knows how to show it off. Villanelle would usually admire this, but as she lets her eyes trail the curve of Juliet's hips, she thinks of baggy turtle-necks and shitty weather coats. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi," Villanelle gives the younger woman a tight-lipped smile, as she approaches. She hides her surprise when Juliet bounces a couple steps to meet her, before wrapping her arm around Villanelle's. The blonde freezes for a moment, quirking an eyebrow in the brunette woman's direction, but Juliet seems unfazed. She tugs on Villanelle's arm, until they're walking down the street. </p><p> </p><p>"Where are we going?" She asks, curiously. She wonders if Juliet will say for a walk down the canal, or to this very shitty little wine bar that she knows, but she wouldn't be surprised if she was taken somewhere completely new. Franklin has found new ways to surprise her, every day.</p><p> </p><p>"It's a surprise." Juliet remarks, happily, and Villanelle just shrugs, letting herself be led to nowhere in particular. "So, what do you do work?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle tells her, and Juliet chimes in with remarks of <em>wow, that's so cool </em>and <em>I love interior design, nothing worse than an ugly home</em>, and Villanelle agrees. Juliet is actually a very good conversationalist, Villanelle learns this when she asks Juliet about her life. She talks the perfect amount - she answers in ways that informative, but not overbearing. She asks interesting questions - ones that warrant complex answers, but not in-depth enough to be overstepping. She does not solely talk about herself, like Stephanie, and she does not keep personal information delicately concealed, like Eve.</p><p> </p><p>A perfect balance, really - which is funny that is makes Villanelle feel very off-kilter. </p><p> </p><p>When they turn onto a street that is a little-too familiar, Villanelle stomach lurches. There is.. <em>no way</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But when Stephanie pulls her to stop in front of <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>, she realizes that sometimes Franklin is just as small as it seems, and there is absolutely a way. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's feet cement to the ground, when Juliet tries to tug her near the door. The brunette stops, letting her eyebrows knit together, as she takes in Villanelle's frozen expression, "Are you okay, V? You look.. weird."</p><p> </p><p>She suddenly wishes that she had given Juliet her full name, because that nickname feels a little too intimate, given their <em>decidedly not-intimate-at-all-and-will-never-be-intimate </em>relationship. She shakes her head, before giving her a tight-lipped smile, "Fine. Let's go in, shall we?" </p><p> </p><p>Juliet smiles, and when they push the door open, Villanelle breathes in to steel herself. The bar is a little busy - the way that makes sense for a 7 PM on a Friday. The sun has only just set a little bit ago, and so patrons filter in slowly. Where it maintains some semblance of serenity now, Villanelle knows that it won't be long before drunken frat boys are spilling their beers all over each other. But, they are not here yet - and Villanelle is allowed a clear shot of the bar. </p><p> </p><p>Elena stands behind it, wiping down some bottles, but she is alone. Eve is nowhere in sight, and Hugo doesn't appear to be either. It does not invite a feeling of safety - because she knows that just because she can't currently see them, does not mean they are not close by. In fact, she knows they are. It is a Friday, after all. </p><p> </p><p>Juliet clings to her arm, and Elena glances up at them distractedly, before snapping her head up to do a double-take. Her eyes widen, and Villanelle pinches the bridge of her nose. Juliet notices all of this, because she asks, "Do you know each other?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. She is a.. friend." Villanelle replies, shortly, before giving Juliet a small smile, "Why don't you get us a table? I will get us drinks," she says, before untangling herself from the woman and making her way towards the bar top.</p><p> </p><p>"But, you don't even know what I drink!" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, not turning around, "It will be a surprise!"</p><p> </p><p>Juliet accepts this, Villanelle assumes, when she doesn't hear another protest.</p><p> </p><p>Elena waits, with wide eyes, until Villanelle is close enough to the bar. And when she is, Elena wastes no time in leaning-forward, whisper-yelling through gritted teeth, "V. Please tell me whatever the fuck you are doing does not look like..<em> whatever it is you are doing</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>She gesticulates behind Villanelle's shoulder to Juliet, and Villanelle catches her wrist to lower it on the bar. She leans forward, not chancing a glance behind her, before whisper-yelling back, "I am not doing anything! It is not a date, Elena." </p><p> </p><p>Elena crosses her arms, leaning to glance over Villanelle shoulder, with raised eyebrows, "<em>Really</em>? Does she know that? It's hard to tell from the heart eyes she's currently burning into your back."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hesitates, but she chances a glance this time. When she looks behind her, Juliet is staring at the back of her head with dreamy eyes, and Villanelle gives her a small wave before turning her attention back to Elena. "Shit."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, shit."</p><p> </p><p>"Is.. Eve here?" Villanelle asks, dumbly.</p><p> </p><p>"It's Friday. What do you think?" Elena pauses to pinch the bridge of her nose, "God. You are lucky you are hot as shit, V, because this is next-level stupidity."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle narrows her eyes, "Is it?"</p><p> </p><p>She feels the bubble of guilt in her stomach, but she has not stopped to dissect it. To understand it, further. She is the one who has made her intentions to Eve, very clear. Eve is the one who wants time, who wants space, who wants everything but Villanelle. So, why does she feel guilty?</p><p> </p><p>Her and Eve are not even in a relationship. They are barely even friends, in Eve's eyes, so why does it feel like she is doing something akin to cheating? Why does her heart suddenly feel like its sinking down to somewhere she won't be able to retrieve it from? </p><p> </p><p>Elena narrows her eyes, too, "Yes."</p><p> </p><p>"Is it really, Elena?" Villanelle leans a little further over the bar, and Elena crosses her arms tighter, "I am not on a date, but even if I was, I think that would be fine, no? Eve and I are not in a relationship, for fuck's sake. <em>This</em>," she gestures between herself and Elena, "is stupid, no?"</p><p> </p><p>Elena inhales deeply, letting her arms uncross in favor of leaning against the bar. When she exhales, she breathes out her answer, "You're right."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Villanelle hisses.</p><p> </p><p>"You are right, V. In terms of logic, you are doing nothing wrong. So, you are right."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle deflates a little bit, pushing onto her palms, "Thank you."</p><p> </p><p>"But, we are talking about you and Eve, which means we are not talking about logic." Elena continues, sternly, and Villanelle watches as she raises an eyebrow. She leans forward a little closer, "Listen. I meant it when I said that I wanted to talk, but it's pretty <em>fucking</em> clear that you and Eve need to talk first before this becomes a game of telephone."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip, exhales to keep herself from yelling, "Yes, well talking to Eve is like talking a brick wall. You know what? Not even a wall," Villanelle laughs, humorlessly, "At least if I put my hand against a wall, I can touch it. <em>Feel </em>it." </p><p> </p><p>Elena shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, "It is not really up to me right now, Elena."</p><p> </p><p>Elena reaches a hand over to squeeze Villanelle's shoulder, and her eyes shimmer with some sort of empathy, "I know." She drops her hand away, and her eyes glance behind Villanelle's shoulder, "But why the fuck did you bring her here, out of all places?"</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't!" Villanelle whisper-shouts, and she runs her hands over her face with a groan, "<em>She </em>brought <em>me </em>here." </p><p> </p><p>Elena's serious expression breaks then. Her face splits with a smile, and she laughs - hard and hearty. Villanelle scowls. </p><p> </p><p>"God, that is just.. too good." Elena shakes her head, but her smile doesn't fade, "Sorry, V. But it's pretty fucking funny, you've got to admit."</p><p> </p><p>"It really isn't."</p><p> </p><p>"It really is."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle glances behind her, and Juliet is looking at her with an expression of concern. She doesn't have to guess why, given the fact she's been standing at the bar for more than a couple minutes, drink-less. She sighs, turning back to Elena, "This is.. stupid, no?"</p><p> </p><p>Not usually one to seek outside advice, Villanelle feels desperate for some kind of confirmation. Elena seems to be the only one who can give it to her.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Elena nods, "What is she drinking?"</p><p> </p><p><em>"What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"What is she drinking? Get your drinks. Drink them, quickly - I suggest. And get her out of here before Eve sees." She holds her hands up in surrender when Villanelle shoots her another glare, "I'm not saying that you don't have every right to be doing what you're doing, V. But I don't think it's going to help your situation if Eve comes down here and sees you on a date with some young.. hottie. Seriously, V, she's a fox. Where do you find them?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is not a date," Villanelle grunts once more, for good measure, "I do not know what she is drinking. I said I would surprise her."</p><p> </p><p>Elena looks a little bit closer, squinting her eyes, before pulling two rocks glasses onto the bar. She makes Villanelle her usual gin and tonic, and the blonde watches with a quirked brow as she pours some vodka into the other, topping it with a splash of cranberry juice. She pushes them towards the blonde. </p><p> </p><p>"She's definitely a vodka-cran kind of girl." </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I was thinking the same," Villanelle mumbles, pulling out her wallet, but Elena dismisses her with a wave. </p><p> </p><p>"These are on me. Consider them a good-luck gift."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyebrows, and she grabs the glasses from the bar. Before she can turn, Elena catches her arm, and when she makes eye contact with the bartender, she sees concern edging around the corner of her eyes, "Are you good, V? You seem a little.. fucked up." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs, coldly.</p><p> </p><p>"What happened at that fucking ski resort?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses for a beat, and then with a shrug, "Eve happened."</p><p> </p><p>She offers it, simply. Because she does not feel like lying. Because there is no use when Eve echoes all of her movements. Because there is no use hiding, what is obvious. </p><p> </p><p>Elena gives her a sympathetic smile, before Hugo rounds the corner. "Villanelle! It's been a while," he grins, wiping his hands on the towel, "I was starting to miss you, you know? Kind of weird." </p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, and his eyes slowly bounce from the drinks in her hand, to the young woman seated alone at the table near the back, "Who's the hottie?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hugo, shut the fuck up," Elena barks, and Villanelle turns around. She doesn't look back, this time.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When she sets the drink down in front of Juliet, the young woman's eyes light up and she curls her fingers around it, happily, "Wow, my favorite! How did you know?"</p><p> </p><p>"Lucky guess." Villanelle replies, stoically, before lowering herself into the seat across from the brunette. It is a safe distance.</p><p> </p><p>"So, you know the bartender?" Juliet leans forward, letting her chin rest in her palm, "I guess my surprise fell short, then. You have obviously been here before."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, a little bit," she replies, sipping her gin and relishing the way it stings her throat, before setting the glass back down on the table, "I know the owner better."</p><p> </p><p>"The owner?" Juliet's eyebrows knit together, with realization, "The hot, older lady? Kind of.. bitchy?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets out a booming laugh at that. Juliet smiles at the sound, letting her hand fall to rest on Villanelle's forearm. She sobers. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, that one." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle looks at Juliet's hand on her arm. She does not know why she doesn't just shoo it away. In fact, she does not know why she doesn't simply just get up and leave. She is not interested, and she has never been one to.. <em>beat around the bush</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She does not know if it a combination of feeling sensitive after being rubbed raw by time spent with Eve, or if her body is still recovering from being flu-ridden, but she does not the side of the leaf she is turning. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I've only seen her here a couple times." Juliet's voice pulls her from her thoughts, as the brunette takes a sip of her drink, "I used to come in here for the hot, curly-haired bartender."</p><p> </p><p>"Elena?" </p><p> </p><p>"No, I haven't seen her before. Hugh. I think is his name?" </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Hugo</em>." Villanelle offers it, cheerfully. She slaps her hands down in her lap, and the movement makes Juliet jump a little bit. "That is great. Hugo is desperate. You should really ask him out." Villanelle smiles, as she cranes her neck to look around the bar, "In fact, he is here right now."</p><p> </p><p>Juliet's mouth tugs into a frown, and Villanelle's smile slowly fades as she watches it. Juliet sets her drink down, inching closer to the blonde until she's letting her fingers trail across the woman's forearm, "I'm a little interested in something else, right now."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm?" Villanelle tries her best, tries to play dumb, but she feels her patience slowly wavering. She feels the leave being turned over, back to its original side. The side that is impatient, and familiar, and does not want to be here right now. </p><p> </p><p>"You, V. I'm interested in you." Juliet offers it, confidently.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah." </p><p> </p><p>Juliet leans over the table, attempting to inspect the blonde's expression a little more closely, "I don't get it. You seemed very interested the first time you came in. What changed?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle leans back a bit, but Juliet doesn't. Villanelle knew it from the moment she saw the motivated curl of her smile. She knew it would be a problem. </p><p> </p><p>"It is a long story. Shitty. Very boring. You do not want to hear," Villanelle manages, and she's about to throw the towel in, when she hears a throat clear from somewhere off to the side. </p><p> </p><p>She feels Eve before she sees her. She doesn't even have to turn to look, but she does, because she has to confirm that all of this is actually happening. When she does, Eve is standing a few feet away from their table, arms crossed and eyes flitting between the two seated woman. As per usual, Eve's face remains perfectly unreadable.</p><p> </p><p>"Hi," the older woman offers, void of emotion, and her eyes finally settle on Villanelle's. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Eve," Villanelle breathes out, shrinking in her seat a little bit, and Juliet finally lets her hands fall away from the blonde's arms. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, you own the bar, right?" Juliet asks, and Eve doesn't even muster up the politeness to tear her eyes away from Villanelle to look at her, "You're V's friend?" </p><p> </p><p>It happens, then.</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws, "<em>V, </em>huh?" </p><p> </p><p>The older woman's transforms from an impassive scowl, to something cold and calculating. Villanelle watches as brown eyes become black wells, watches as Eve's jaw tenses with a thousand little knots, watches as her eyes shimmer with that beautiful, dangerous fire. </p><p> </p><p>"Who are you?" She snaps her head around to look at Juliet then, and Villanelle watches, empathetically, as Juliet shrinks under the power of Eve's gaze. </p><p> </p><p>"Uh, Juliet." </p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs at that. An icy sound that sends a chill down her spine. </p><p> </p><p>"Nice to meet you." Eve grits out, before turning to let her eyes fall on Villanelle's once more. She just shakes her head, and Villanelle braces for whatever berating is about to happen, but it doesn't come. "Have a nice time with.." she gesticulates to the table, "whatever the <em>fuck </em>this is." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises herself from her seat, her body trekking a subconscious trail after Eve's, "<em>Wait</em>-"</p><p> </p><p>"Don't." Eve barks over her shoulder, not even bothering to look around before saying, "Have fun, Romeo." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle clenches her first. She is angry for many reasons. One, because she has done absolutely nothing wrong. Two, she should not have to run after Eve to attempt to explain herself. Three, that jab was actually pretty good.</p><p> </p><p>She lets her head fall back, before kicking her chair out of the way to follow Eve. </p><p> </p><p>"Where are you going?" Juliet calls after her, "You can't just leave halfway through our date!"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle fingernails cut into the base of her palm, as she turns around, "It was not a <em>fucking </em>date!" </p><p> </p><p>Juliet looks at her dumbly, angrily, "Well, I wanted it to be. Before you started acting like a fucking asshole!"</p><p> </p><p>"I <em>am </em>an asshole!" Villanelle yells, back.</p><p> </p><p>"You could have told me that before I asked you out!"</p><p> </p><p>"It is fine. I promise you will get over it."</p><p> </p><p>And with that, she turns around and treks through a bar of confused patrons. She treks past a wide-eyed Elena who is holding her hands up (<em>I tried to signal you, V</em>!), she treks past an amused Hugo, she treks past whoever she has to until she is up the stairs, and on the roof.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It is empty - Eve was probably up here, prepping for it to open - but she doesn't have to look around long until she finds Eve sat at one of the tables, her head buried in her hands. Villanelle's legs are moving, quickly, and Eve whips her head around at the sound.</p><p> </p><p>When she catches sight of the blonde moving towards her, she pulls herself into a standing position. She holds her hands at her sides, palming facing outwards, and it looks a lot like a white flag being thrown up before the war even begins. Villanelle doesn't accept it. </p><p> </p><p>"What the <em>fuck </em>was that, Eve?" Villanelle growls, through clenched teeth, and Eve has the sense to look a little ashamed, at least. Her eyes, a soft brown, glint under the string lights.</p><p> </p><p>"I.. don't know." Eve spurts out quickly, before correcting herself, "You don't need to explain yourself, Villanelle. That was.. uncalled for." </p><p> </p><p>As Eve's fire dims, Villanelle's grows. It's not enough. Not this time. </p><p> </p><p>"You are right," she states, through gritted teeth, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, "I do not need to explain myself."</p><p> </p><p>"I know." Eve pleads, taking a step forward; Villanelle takes a step back. Eve watches with confused eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"But you do."</p><p> </p><p>Eve freezes in place. Her eyes become something reduced to a desperation, as they search Villanelle's face. Maybe desperate for an exit, or mercy, or something that she will not be getting tonight. Villanelle has been graceful. She has been patient. She has been many things. Stupid, included. </p><p> </p><p>Eve deflates, closing her eyes and clenching her fists, before asking, "Do you like her?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Villanelle growls. She couldn't have heard that right.</p><p> </p><p>"Juliet? Do you <em>like </em>her?" Eve asks again, reopening her eyes this time, and they don't hold their usual argumentative energy. They just look.. tired. It makes Villanelle angrier.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't think I owe you that information, Eve," Villanelle hisses.</p><p> </p><p>"No, you don't." Eve agrees, slowly, "But I'm just trying to figure things out."</p><p> </p><p>"Care to clue me in here, Eve?" Villanelle uncrosses her arms to hold her hands out at her sides, "Because I'm having a <em>shit </em>time trying to keep up with whatever fucked-up thought process you're entertaining." </p><p> </p><p>"In the truck." Eve states, hoarsely. "You said you.. <em>liked </em>me." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle considers throwing herself off the roof. Their conversation sounds more like one taking place between two high-schoolers, than it does two adults. But she figures that isn't a far off comparison given how their dynamic has progressed this far.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve." Villanelle scoffs, letting her hands fall against her thighs, "I said I liked you, because I do. Forgive me if it's a little hard to remember why right now."</p><p> </p><p>Eve winces. Villanelle swallows. </p><p> </p><p>Eve steps forward. Villanelle doesn't move.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you like me in the same way you like Juliet?" Eve starts slowly, but her voice laces with venom as it continues. Like a snake slowly releasing venom.  "Or Stephanie? Or that <em>friend </em>of yours in Paris?" </p><p> </p><p>She should relish in it, right? The jealousy laced in Eve's tone? The fact that Eve has dedicated more time thinking about these woman than Villanelle has? It should put butterflies in her stomach, and maybe there are - but she can't feel them over the bubbling of acid.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, her fists resuming a steady pattern of clenching, and unclenching, "That is not fair. You said you do not care if I slept with Stephanie."</p><p> </p><p>"I don't." Eve barks back, through gritted teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"You do not get to care who I sleep with. We are not <em>together</em>, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle clenches her jaw. </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes flash with a momentary injury, as if an arrow passed through her chest and made a quick exit through her back. They are replaced with that familiar black anger, very quickly, "I <em>don't </em>care." </p><p> </p><p>"Bullshit."</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Bullshit</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Wow, Villanelle." Eve shakes her head, her curls bouncing around her face as she does, and Villanelle thinks her hair looks like its on fire too, "You have some real fucking nerve, you know that?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cackles. The sound makes Eve jump. Probably because it comes out as more of a hoarse croak than anything else, but she can't help it. It is very funny - to be accused of having nerve by the same woman who is about to overflow with nerve. Who has nerve dripping from her fingertips. </p><p> </p><p>"I have <em>nerve</em>, Eve?" Villanelle can't stop laughing, and she wishes she could because she wants her words to cut, not bounce, "Jesus, I mean, <em>seriously</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth hangs a little agape. </p><p> </p><p>"No, I do not like you in the way that I like Juliet, or Stephanie, or <em>who-fuck-ever</em>, Eve." Villanelle's laughing finally dies down, and she shakes her head before continuing, "But for the sake of this argument, let's say that I did. Is that really what's stopping you?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle steps forward. Eve steps back, this time.</p><p> </p><p>Eve bites her lip hard enough that Villanelle is surprised no blood comes as result of the action. So, with Eve bloodless and fine, and Villanelle, bloodied and unwell, she continues,</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe that is what you want to hear. Some answer that will give you an excuse you to quell the way you feel about me, but I see the way you look at me, Eve. I <em>feel </em>the way you look at me, but you do not touch me. I think I'm starting to understand why."</p><p> </p><p>Eve says nothing. Villanelle lets her nails bite into her palm, to keep her body from shaking. </p><p> </p><p>"I do not think you brought Stephanie up because you are jealous. Maybe a little, sure, but I think you brought her up because you want to understand the outcome."</p><p> </p><p>"What?" Eve grits out, and Villanelle watches the whiteness spread over her knuckles as she clenches her hands into fist. It reads as a <em>Bullseye</em>. It reads as a struck chord. It reads as the one thing Eve has tried desperately to conceal, finally bubbling to the surface. </p><p> </p><p>It almost looks pretty - the color of purity in stark contrast to the anger residing in Eve's fingers. White is the color of purity - of angels, but it is also the color of anger. White and hot. Villanelle sees it when she closes her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"If you were able to lump yourself together with Stephanie or Juliet, or <em>whoever</em>, then maybe you could understand the outcome. Nothing more than meaningless sex. Maybe it would be enough for give out, or maybe.. it would be enough for you to give in." Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, "I do know what is you want, after all. You will not tell me."</p><p> </p><p>"Regardless," Villanelle shrugs, before folding her hands behind her back, and stepping closer to Eve, "Would that really stop you from touching me? If it was not an outcome that you liked? Would that be enough for you to pack up your desires, and shove them into a corner where you don't have to look at them?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets her eyes trail down to Eve's fists. They're shaking. Villanelle wonders what she'll do with them. Maybe Eve would punch her? That would be a nice surprise. </p><p> </p><p>She would take it over another <em>I don't know</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"If you were to kiss me, maybe we would fuck, and maybe that would be the end of it. Something to get out of your system, and maybe that would satisfy you." Villanelle laughs, quietly, "Or maybe you would kiss me, and we would fuck, and then something else would happen? Something you can't predict. That terrifies you, doesn't it?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's fingers unclench, suddenly. Whiteness fading away from her knuckles, the color of flesh stretching over them again. Human and messy. Villanelle sees it when she closes her eyes. She feels it, as she has to suppress her hands from reaching out to comfort Eve's shaking shoulders. She feels it, as her body reminds her that she is nothing but human, and messy. Full of want, and desire, and <em>disgust</em>.</p><p> </p><p>When she continues, her voice tries to cling to anger, but it sounds more like the way the flesh looks - penetrable, and delicate, "You only want to touch me, if you know exactly how it will play out. If you can predict the outcome. And that is not fair, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes. Villanelle prepares herself for the silence. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is shocked when she registers the motion of her body being pushed back.  Her brain - throbbing and slow - takes a second to catch up with the action. By the time it does, she only has enough time to catch a glimpse. A blur of dark hair in her vicinity, a feeling of hands on her shoulders, and then, a collision. </p><p> </p><p>Eve lips are clumsy when they press against Villanelle's. Forceful and desperate, clunky with teeth, but soft in the way she couldn't have predicted Eve's lips to be. A softness that she had suspected to exist within Eve, but one she couldn't be sure of without touching. Eve's mouth moves against hers, and Villanelle feels it beneath her eyelids - colors fading from white, to flesh, to red. An explosion of nerves - grossly human, and exceedingly messy. </p><p> </p><p>She takes Eve's bottom lip into her mouth, and it feels sacred. Eve lets out a small moan at the contact, and Villanelle images this is how it must have felt when Eve bit into the apple. Right and wrong. Good and evil. Their mouths move together, and it is more than a collision - it a portal, a blurred line, an allowance at not feeling what the other feels, but feeling together as one. It is dizzying, and Villanelle wonders if some part of her consciousness has moved into Eve's body. She wonders if some part of herself has left her, to take up space as one of Eve's ribs. </p><p> </p><p>Eve tongue flicks into her mouth, assertively - and she feels the sensation travel down her  throat, seep through the acid in her stomach, until it settles in at the base of her spine. It isn't until Eve's teeth clanks against hers harshly that her body registers the feeling of what is happening - something more than nerves, and subconscious movements, and an attempt by their bodies to mold them together. </p><p> </p><p>The rope is being pulled, and it's withering in the middle - not broken, like Villanelle wants it to be, but hanging on by a string. Eve's mouth moves against hers, clumsily and insistently.. and it feels like a lot more like an attempt to <em>prove </em>something, than it feels like an attempt to <em>accept </em>something. The realization sobers her. <em>Shatters </em>her, actually.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's body says <em>yes</em>, but her heart says <em>no </em>- and Villanelle is getting stupider with age, because she decides to listen to the insistent muscle in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>So when she brings her hands up against Eve's chest, and pushes her away, it feels like the most sinful movement she's ever made. It also feels like the most necessary.</p><p> </p><p>It is something she wish she would have done the first time Anna kissed her, in her classroom. Desperate and scared, and uncertain. But she did not.</p><p> </p><p>She will not make the same mistake twice.</p><p> </p><p>Eve falls back with the movement, stumbling a few feet backwards, and she regards Villanelle with eyes that look a little dazed, a little shocked, but mostly taken aback. Eve brings a shakes hand up to her lips, as if she can't believe whatever sinful act her body has just committed. It makes Villanelle want to kiss her again. Or, slap her. She can't decide.</p><p> </p><p>She inhales, and she lets her eyes close, tightly. Her nerves are cursing her for the lack of contact. Where her body had been a lively place the moment before, birthed with something beautiful, it now just feels.. <em>defeated</em>, dead with something rotting.</p><p> </p><p>When she reopens them, she focuses on Eve, soberly.</p><p> </p><p>"Not like that, Eve." She breathes out, a little watery. She feels the tears before they reach her eyes, and so she blinks, killing them before they can exist. </p><p> </p><p>She notices the way Eve's chest moves and falls, heavily, and in sync with her own. </p><p> </p><p>"Isn't that what you wanted, Villanelle?" Eve asks, breathlessly; tensely.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle inhales deeply, and she feels her breath push against her ribcage, painfully, "Is that what <em>you </em>wanted?"</p><p> </p><p>The older woman looks back at her, brows knit, and eyes desperately searching Villanelle's for something. But it is something Villanelle can not name because only Eve knows. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, softly.</p><p> </p><p>Her laugh is quiet, barely there, and fragile when she asks, "You still have not figured it out, have you?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve remains cemented to the place she stands. Villanelle doesn't move, either.</p><p> </p><p>And as the rope hangs between them, she can feel Eve's fear. It is something she can accept, but she does not want it. She does not want Eve when she is scared. She does not want Eve when she is hesitant, and half-willing, desperate to prove something. No, she wants Eve when she is certain and confident.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wants Eve, when Eve wants her. Then, and only then. But Eve has to know it, too.</p><p> </p><p>That's why Villanelle steps back, steps away, swallowing whatever tears are threatening to bubble. She shakes her head softly, and it only blurs the vision of Eve in front of her a little more. She wonders if she'll ever see Eve, fully - or if it will only be glimpses, blurred images, fractions. </p><p> </p><p>She can't accept it, and that's why she says, "Don't text me until you figure it out, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows knit together, and she steps forward, "<em>Villanelle.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>The blonde closes her eyes, biting her lip and letting a smile curl her lips, "I'm serious."</p><p> </p><p>Eve hesitates where she stands. She doesn't move. She just offers a very weak, "Okay."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"Okay."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle turns on her heel, and she leaves. She doesn't register any of the faces she has to push through this time, no - she does not even wonder about them. She is sure Elena is there, or Hugo, maybe even Juliet still - but they all blend together as one big watery sea of obstacles, and she doesn't look up until she is out of the bar. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't look up, until she gets to the hotel, in fact.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When she collapses on her bed, she looks up for a very long time. She finds patterns in the ceiling. She thinks one looks like an apple, she thinks one looks like a rib, she thinks only of shapes. Not the shape of things like Eve's lips, or Eve's body against her - no, she only thinks of shapes that she can not touch. It is cathartic - in a way, to look and not think. To see, but not feel.</p><p> </p><p>It is the first night she thinks of nothing - for a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>Her phone buzzes at 2 AM, and it's the first time that she looks away from the ceiling since collapsing on the bed. When she unlocks it, there are two texts from Eve:</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span></em> Figured it out.</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span></em> Can you come over?</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle puts her phone back down. She looks at the ceiling a little more - until she sees the shape that looks a little too much like Eve's hair.</p><p> </p><p>She gets up. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am seriously thinking about you all! I know how long most of you have been waiting for a kiss, and for it to finally happen it that way, I am.. so sorry. don't know what's up w/ this sadistic streak, but please yell at me in comments. also, feel free to yell at me for using not one, but two classic tropes (sick V, caught-on-a-not-date V)!</p><p>feeling a little shaky in the saddle, as this was the first time I scrapped something halfway to change direction completely! but.. gotta trust the process, huh!</p><p>I'm also realizing I may not be able to fit everything I want to in 10 chapters.. but we will see...</p><p>ya'll are always so kind and loving to me, please know you can let me know however you feel in the comments! I appreciate each and every word - wholeheartedly. if you need to yell at me about that kiss to get it out of your system, go for it! I encourage it! </p><p>xoxo all of my love, many times over, and all of my thanks, even more times, then that</p><p>I'm on the bird app now! @turtleduckxo</p><p> </p><p>translations: </p><p>отродье = brat<br/>мой ребенок = My child</p><p>please let me know if anything is off!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>damn, for once, I don't have much to say as a precursor for this chapter. I hope everything that I want to say comes through! </p><p>as always, I can't thank ya'll enough for leaving comments + kudos + engaging with me! it means the world, and it has made this such a joyous experience! can't believe we're already in the home stretch..</p><p>as always, please feel free to let me know your insights in the comments! feedback, of all types, is always welcome, and I always welcome your truths in whatever form they may come in!</p><p>major NSFW</p><p>(if you do not like smut, feel free to see end notes, I'll fill ya in)</p><p>XOXO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>God created the Universe in seven days. </p><p> </p><p>That is something Villanelle learned from the dust-ridden Bible in her hotel room.</p><p> </p><p>Well, <em>technically</em>, he did it in six days. </p><p> </p><p>He took the seventh day to rest.</p><p> </p><p><em>Lazy bastard, </em>Villanelle thinks, as she treks a slow trail to Eve's apartment. Her feet feel heavy with the lethargy of a 2 A.M. defeat. Or maybe, her feet just feel heavy with laze. </p><p> </p><p>That's why she curses God - to make herself feel better. Because that is what she's being right now. She is being <em>lazy</em>. </p><p> </p><p>It took God seven days to create the Universe.</p><p> </p><p>It took Villanelle fourteen days to surrender to the force of Eve Polastri. </p><p> </p><p>There is no reason for her to be trudging to Eve's apartment at 2 A.M. There is no reason to be trudging to <em>anybody's </em>apartment at 2 A.M. when there is no promise of sex, or even a good time - for that matter. But, there is no reason to be trudging to the apartment of the woman who had threatened to break her heart only six hours beforehand. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jesus fucking Christ.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She curses, in her head. She tacks on a <em>Sorry </em>at the end for good measure - just in case anybody is listening, after all.</p><p> </p><p>Reading the Bible has not turned her into a theist - no, not at all - but she is starting to accept that there are many forces in the world that are inexplicable. If a woman that she's known for two weeks can break her heart, then she figures the existence of a higher power can't be far off. And that's exactly what Eve is doing - breaking her heart.</p><p> </p><p>There's no use in denying in it, or dousing herself with lies to get her through the night, because she feels it, in her chest. Eve was brave enough to bruise her lip with the passion of her kiss, only to tell her afterwards, that she was not brave enough to want her. So, Villanelle holds no faith in the fact that the woman texted her with a vague <em>Figured it out </em>less than six hours afterwards. But, she's curious and she's not strong enough to deny that curiosity in an attempt to maintain her pride. No, she's too <em>lazy</em>. </p><p> </p><p>She braces herself for the inevitable. She braces herself for Eve to tell her she can't do it, after all, and <em>in fact, it's probably good if we don't see each other at all</em>. She braces herself to feel Eve's fear, because it's all she's known so far. Sure, she's seen glimpses of braveness that have instilled her with a nonsensical hope - but the truth of it is that Eve has spent thirty-nine years succumbing to her habits, molding her deepest desires into the perfect shade of untouchable, and Villanelle would be stupid to think she was capable of changing that. She can not fight a battle that Eve does not even want to win. </p><p> </p><p>When she comes to a standing position outside of <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>, her feet feel stuck to the ground. Her body tries to process the contrasting emotions - her heart still palpates as it registers that she will see Eve in just a few moments, but her heart palpates even harder when she realizes it is under devastating circumstances. Her heart moves, but her feet don't. Stuck in some sort of molasses - deadly, and a little bit sweet, but mostly just deadly.</p><p> </p><p>She texts Eve to let her know she is outside, and she waits. Like she seems to always do, for Eve. When the older woman appears only a minute later and ushers Villanelle in with nothing more but a <em>Follow me, </em>she does. Like she seems to always do, for Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She follows Eve through the dark and empty bar, and she doesn't pay attention the water in her eyes as she tries to recount the curls of the woman's hair to her memory. She follows Eve up the stairs, and she watches the sway of Eve's hips as her body carries her <em>up, up, up,</em>while Villanelle's heart falls <em>down, down, down</em>. She follows Eve into her apartment, and she blinks away her tears when Eve closes the door behind them - she doesn't think about how the sound of the lock clicking into place feels a lot more like a metaphor than it should. </p><p> </p><p>When she sits on the couch across from her, she watches as the Eve attempts to make herself comfortable in a situation that is not. Eve readjusts; straightens her posture, before clasping her hands over her knee, and Villanelle thinks it looks overly formal given the exhaustion echoing each one of her moments. Villanelle is decidedly <em>lazy</em>, so she does not do any of this. She just collapses back on the couch, letting her legs fan out, and she regards Eve with a cocked eyebrow. She will not be the first one to talk. Not this time. </p><p> </p><p>Eve holds her eye contact, with faux strength - like a bird, with a broken wing, trying to puff its chest - but it doesn't last long. Villanelle just watches her, silently, as Eve's shoulder deflates, and she collapses against the frame of the couch until she is mirroring the blonde. Her palms lay in her lap, open, and facing the ceiling - like an offering, or plea, a bloodied white flag. </p><p> </p><p>"God, I'm tired." Eve whispers, as she lets her eyes focus on the ceiling. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't say anything - because she is too lazy to yell, too lazy to muster up a <em>Really? You're tired? That's funny, </em>too lazy to coax Eve into saying whatever she is trying to say.</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets her head roll to the side so she can look at Villanelle directly, "Aren't you tired?"</p><p> </p><p>"No." Villanelle lies, because Eve doesn't get to know about the depletion of energy she has caused in the her body. </p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Eve hums, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>When she closes her eyes, Villanelle does too.</p><p> </p><p>The darkness behind her lids casts a shadow over the fight in her body, coaxes her into a <em>lazy </em>truth, "A little bit." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's hum turns into a quiet laugh. Quiet and defeated, and Villanelle opens her eyes to trail the noise. When she regards Eve's eye this time, she notices the drained solemnity in them. There is no more anger; and so Villanelle wonders where it went. She wonders where all of the emotions that bubble up inside of Eve - anger, sadness, grief - go, when they pop.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you tired of, Eve?" Villanelle asks, directly.</p><p> </p><p>She knows Eve is not speaking of a general lack of energy, and even if she was, Villanelle would not ask about that. She is no longer interested in asking questions that serve a general meaning - no, with Eve, she knows she must ask questions the way one dissects something. Calculated, and precise. She is <em>here</em>to dissect something.</p><p> </p><p>"Fighting." Eve swallows, letting her eyes trek a sluggish trail around the room, "With you, sure, but mostly with myself. I'm so fucking tired of fighting myself." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle allows a moment of silence to understand the way her heart stings stretch, reverberate, break at the strained sound of Eve's voice. She takes a moment to understand if she should feel bad. She takes a moment to understand that she <em>does</em>feel bad, she can not help it, but that doesn't mean she feels merciful.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop doing it, then." Villanelle shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>The sound that follows Villanelle is sure is supposed to come out as a laugh, but it comes out as more of a choke. When she looks closer, Eve's eyes are pooling with tears - the sight of them feels rare; sacred. The one's she knows are there, but never gets to see. Ghosts of Eve's body, coming out to haunt the hallways when Eve is too tired to fight them off.</p><p> </p><p>"You make it sound so easy." A tear falls, gliding it's way into the curve of Eve's smile, Villanelle watches it very intently, "You make everything sound so <em>fucking </em>easy." </p><p> </p><p>Her hands itch with the desire to reach out and touch Eve - scoop the tear onto her fingertip, and bring it to her lips. She does not do this, because she knows that Eve is not the type to want to be comforted while she cries, but a selfish desire persists. She chews on the silence; chews on her selfishness, chews on the desire to taste Eve's tears, in an attempt to taste some part of Eve. She shoves it down.</p><p> </p><p>"Things are easy, if you let them be."</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, her eyebrows knitting together as if she's been presented with an unsolvable equation, "That's not - Do you even think about your future, Villanelle? Consequences?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure. Sometimes."</p><p> </p><p>"Sometimes?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not often." Villanelle purses her lips.</p><p> </p><p>She knows Eve well enough now to know that the ball of stress that lingers in the woman's body is one that she molds with her own hands. If Eve thinks about her future, she stresses about her future. If Eve thinks about her present, she stresses about her present. She can not relate to Eve about allowing her stress to flow in these two directions, but she can relate about letting her stress flow the opposite way. If Eve thinks about years gone by, what do her hands do then? </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip, and turns to face Eve's body with her own, "Do you ever think about the past, Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve stills, and Villanelle thinks it's funny how when her body stills, somehow the single tear escaping her eyes seem to, too. As if Eve's body holds the power to make anything happen, or to make anything stop happening. Villanelle watches, with baited breath, to see what she will choose to make happen next.</p><p> </p><p>Eve chooses truth.</p><p> </p><p>"All the time." Eve pauses, blinking away her tears, "It's all I think about."</p><p> </p><p>A breathy laugh escapes Villanelle's lips, "Me too."</p><p> </p><p>It is a quiet admission. Simple, even. If one were to overhear their conversation, it could be regarded as insignificant. But for two people who have gone to great lengths to maintain a perfect ignorance to their pasts - two people who push the skeletons in their closets aside to grab their winter jackets - it is a moment of intense vulnerability. </p><p> </p><p>Eve clears her throat, swallowing the thickness of the moment, "Do you remember when I told you about Niko? The time we drank wine by the canal? I told you about how I never even wanted to be married, but I said yes anyways." </p><p> </p><p>"Yes." <em>How could she forget? It was the stupidest thing she's ever heard</em>. "I remember."</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't tell you that I was thinking about ending things, when he proposed."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, and Eve continues, "But I didn't. I stayed, and said yes, and we got married, and then I stayed.. for more than a fucking decade."</p><p> </p><p>"Why?" Villanelle blurts, confusedly.</p><p> </p><p>"Niko.. was <em>safe</em>. It was <em>easy </em>to picture our future together. I knew that he wouldn't leave me; that he'd be a good husband. And I was right, about both of those things." Eve's lip curls in disgust, and Villanelle wonders if its aimed at herself or Niko or maybe just the situation altogether, "I felt like I could see everything play out before my eyes. I think that I.. found comfort in being able to predict how this one part of my life would play out, at least."</p><p> </p><p>"You don't seem like the type to seek out predictability, Eve." Villanelle relays slowly, trying to keep up with drastic juxtaposition of Eve's inner monologue compared to the Eve she sees before her, "You seem like the type to get bored. Fast."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, at that. It sounds like a confirmation. It probably is, because that's what happened, no? Eve got bored, and she stayed bored, until the boredom threatened to kill her. </p><p> </p><p>"Better to be bored, and understand the outcome." Eve offers a fabricated shrug, as if she's relaying a rehearsed monologue, "Worse to be excited, and not know what's coming next."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Really</em>?" Villanelle challenges, letting her eyebrows raise. </p><p> </p><p>It feels like moving a pawn on a chess board.</p><p> </p><p>Eve moves her knight, when she says, "You don't think about that, though."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sucks her teeth.</p><p> </p><p>"No. I don't, Eve. Why would I?" Villanelle shakes her head, drawing her shoulders up, "I could die tomorrow. It is no use to think about the future. It it is never guaranteed."</p><p> </p><p>Silence stretches between them. They look at each other - eyes challenging, mouths unmoving - until Eve takes a deep breath in. When she exhales, she does with enough force to blow the chess board over completely. Useless metaphors blown away in the breeze, leaving Villanelle to sit with nothing but the realism of the moment.</p><p> </p><p>"You're thirteen years younger than me," Eve blurts, and her words shake with nerves.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow. <em>Ah</em>. She finally understands what is happening. She is finally getting insight into the what is happening in the places she is not allowed to look. The fight that takes place in Eve's head, in Eve's heart, the fight that disguises itself when it comes to lurch at Villanelle.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." She replies, steadily, not breaking eye contact, "I understand basic math, believe it or not."</p><p> </p><p>Eve snorts, throwing her head back, before leveling eye contact again, "Have you stopped to think about what you're doing, Villanelle?" Eve shakes her head, and her hair falls falls around her face like embers falling off a fire, "You're putting a lot of effort into chasing me, chasing <em>this</em>.." Eve gesticulates between them, "but have you stopped to consider that you won't like the outcome? That maybe you're putting all of effort into something that might just <em>bore </em>you?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets herself feel, before she answers. She lets herself feel the heat of Eve's truth, the heat of Eve's insecurities, the heat of Eve's hesitancies existing along her desires.</p><p> </p><p>"When?" Villanelle counters.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>"<em>When </em>would I get bored, Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>"I don't know," Eve hisses, "I'm just saying it's a possibility."</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe," Villanelle shrugs, a rounded motion against the sharpness of her words, "but I am not bored right now."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares, agape.</p><p> </p><p>"I do not think that anybody could get bored in two weeks. It is the timeline we are working with, no?" Villanelle tries again, trying to incorporate the realism of their situation in a hope to sober Eve, but her mouth just remains agape.</p><p> </p><p>It is the truth, and in that way, it is all she can offer. She does not think about her future, often - but that is the dangerous thing about Eve. She easily could, if she allowed herself to. But she doesn't - because she can not think about having something over and over again, when she has not even had it once yet.</p><p> </p><p>When she thinks about Eve, she thinks about the present. When there is a space in front of her, she wishes Eve was there. When she wakes up to an empty pillow beside her, she wishes Eve's hair was splayed over it. She does not think about anniversaries or milestones, because she wants Eve, currently. She does not think about wanting Eve five years down the road, because she wants Eve right now. The former sensation is enough to suffocate her, drown out her senses, that she isn't even able to think about the latter.</p><p> </p><p>She tries for a third time, deflating slightly, "It is hard to imagine getting bored of you, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"You don't know that." Eve murmurs, and Villanelle wonders if on her fourth try, it would just be easier to strangle her.</p><p> </p><p>That would at least put a stop to the questions being put forward that she is unable to answer.</p><p> </p><p>"Neither do you." Villanelle narrows her eyes, "There is no way to know. Not unless you try."</p><p> </p><p>She did not come here to do this. She did not come here to argue her points as to why Eve should consider being with her. She did not come here for any reason outside of getting answers, and hearing what the fuck it is that Eve figured out. But as their conversation drags on, Villanelle is starting to realize that maybe Eve did no such thing. Maybe it was just some ploy to get Villanelle back at her apartment, poke her finger in the wound she created only hours ago, just to see what happens. </p><p> </p><p>"You've only had one relationship."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs, red starts to blur at the corner of her eyes, "Haven't you? <em>Technically</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth slams shut at that - as it tends to do when she is wrong, and Villanelle is right. </p><p> </p><p>God, she has wanted this for so long. A peek into the inner working of Eve's brain, the push and pulls of her consciousness, but Villanelle is starting to think it's actually worse to know.</p><p> </p><p>The rope between them is withering into a different material; Villanelle can feel it sliding in her hands, transforming, into something weaker - less sturdy. Villanelle thinks it feels less like a rope, and more like a towel - one that she is about to throw in, if she continues to get more questions than answers. If Eve does not know what she wants, that is fine. But she just does not have much more patience to stand at the witness stand, while she figures it out.</p><p> </p><p>"You have never asked me about that relationship, by the way." Villanelle wonders, aloud, and she scratches her chin, mockingly, "About Anna. Why is that, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>"What.. do you mean?" Eve's voice is cautious - indicative of something considered, but never spoken. </p><p> </p><p>"You have asked about my father. You have asked about Konstantin." Villanelle lists, letting her hand fall away from her chin, "You have even brought up the lady I sleep with in Paris more times than you have brought up Anna. But you have never asked about her. Why?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve stays quiet.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sees red, fully, this time. It's hot as it comes to rest behind her eyelids. </p><p> </p><p>The colors of apples, the color of desire, the color of anger. Right now, it is nothing more than the latter. </p><p> </p><p>"Silence is not something I have much patience for right now, Eve." Villanelle snorts, sharply, "Is it because you're scared you'll see yourself in her?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's silence stretches on, and Villanelle feels the material tighten in her hand. She moves to stand up - to throw the towel in, to walk away, to leave, and never look back.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's voice stops her.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses. The surprise in her chest stills her movements. It is nothing more than a crumb - a crumb of honesty compared to the lies Eve has surrounded herself in. A crumb feels like a plate to a hungry man; Villanelle feels like she's been starving for days.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle steadies her weight on her hands. She lets her palms rest against the cushions of the couch, no longer getting up, but not relaxing back into her seat either.</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, letting her fingers come up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She sighs, and her shoulders collapse in on themselves, but Villanelle notices the way that challenge never leaves her eyes. Perhaps, she has been so caught up in the allure of Eve's eyes, that she failed to see the permanence of the fight etched into Eve's pupils. Perhaps, it is a fight that never had much to do with Villanelle in the first place. Perhaps, every time Eve has fought with her, she has just been fighting with herself, and Villanelle has been nothing more than a voyeur to the whole experience. Wrong place, wrong time.</p><p> </p><p>"I am not scared of hearing about Anna, Villanelle. I'm fucking terrified." Eve laughs lowly, shaking her head. "You know what scares me more? I think that I need to hear it to understand what it is that makes you so scared."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth falls open at her, her forehead creasing, "What makes me <em>scared</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Eve huffs, her eyes narrowing - but they do not look angry, they look more incredulous, "You're scared. Aren't you?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve pauses, and it's Villanelle's turn to be quiet.</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, "It's not fair, Villanelle, to demand truth from me, when you can't even be honest with yourself. You know what's funny? I was so <em>fucking </em>confused why I needed to come up with an answer for you." Eve's exhales a breathy laugh, "I didn't understand why that was so pressing. Most people would be fine with waiting - I'd say most people would prefer waiting, to rejection. But it confused me when I realized that you'd rather have me to tell you <em>No</em>, then wait around for me to figure it out. Why is that?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth doesn't move. Her heart, previously an erratic thing, feels like it stops moving too. Fear is a powerful emotion - one that can turn the liveliest of people into nothing more than statues. So, she sits with Eve, statue-esque.</p><p> </p><p>Eve waits, and when Villanelle's lips finally turn from stone back to flesh, she moves them very slowly, "I do not want to tell you about Anna right now, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"You don't need to."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows draw together in confusion, at that. At Eve, who lingers in air of confidence and insecurity - an air that Villanelle did not know existed. At Eve, who sticks her nose in places to sniff out scents that she does not like. At Eve, who has never not taken an opportunity to question her further.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't need to hear about Anna, because it won't change my mind." Eve pauses, pursing her lips, "But what I do need to know is why you're so scared of waiting, of.. <em>not knowing</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows. She swallows the the story of Anna, and it bloodies her throat on the way. When she opens her mouth to give Eve the snippet of truth in her answer, the words come out - bloodied and thick, "I waited a very long time for Anna. I waited a long time, because she did not know." Villanelle's laugh comes out quiet and bloody, too, "When she finally did <em>know, </em>she knew that she did not want me. I waited a long time, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses, before adding, "Does that scare you?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes soften, and Villanelle watches, mortified, as a small smile spreads across her lips, "No."</p><p> </p><p>"It doesn't?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, it doesn't. Because I am not Anna." Eve says it with the confidence of her truth, and Villanelle feels it wash over her, sober her, until all she can do is look at Eve, agape, "But that does not mean I'm not scared of other things, Villanelle. There's still a lot that.. I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's forehead creases, her mouth moves only barely, "Like what, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>"What I just told you." Eve shakes her head softly, but the smile doesn't leave her lips. "I'm about to being fucking forty, Villanelle, and you've barely been alive for a quarter-century. I'm scared that you're more obsessed with the.. <em>chase</em>, than you are actually interested in being with me. I'm scared that we're sat here, having this fucking conversation, after two weeks of knowing each other."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wrings her hands together - she feels a material tighten, as she does. What is it? Ah, right. The towel. The one she was about to throw in. The one she is still currently about to throw in, because she did not come here to hear Eve list all off of the reasons as to why they should not be together again. She came here because Eve told her she figured something out. She came here because Eve lied, obviously.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle moves to stand from the couch, but Eve catches her shoulder before she can get up. She stops Villanelle, and looks at her with knit eyebrows, "What are you doing?"</p><p> </p><p>"Leaving, Eve." Villanelle shakes her head, and Eve's hand falls away from her shoulder, so she stands up, "I did not come here for you list off all of your fears only for you to-</p><p> </p><p>Eve stands up too.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"tell me that you still do not know what you want. It is not fair, Eve. You told me-"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"that you figured something out. You can not just lie to get me to come over here and listen to you-"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>"for the thousandth <em>shit </em>time, while you try to unpack-"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's voice doesn't chime in, again. The sound of a hand making contact with her cheek echoes a deafening sound throughout the apartment. She brings her hand up to her cheek, looking at Eve's wide eyes with a pair of her own, as her brain finally catches up to what happened.</p><p> </p><p>Eve <em>slapped </em>her.</p><p> </p><p>"What the <em>fuck</em>, Eve?!"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes widen, and her hands start doing an erratic dance, and it becomes clear she does not know what to do with them. They hover over Villanelle's shoulder, hovering but never touching her, before she pulls them in front of her chest, in a position of open-palmed surrender.</p><p> </p><p>"Jesus. <em>Sorry</em>! Shit, I'm sorry," she lets her hands fall at her sides, but her mouth continues to move at an unprecedented speed, "But you weren't listening to me!"</p><p> </p><p>"So you fucking <em>slapped </em>me?!" Villanelle hisses through gritted teeth, her hand lingering on her still-burning cheek.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Yes</em>!" Eve yells, running her hands through her hair, before exhaling, "Villanelle. I <em>need </em>you to listen to me."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares at her, lips parted. She is listening, because currently - she is too shocked to figure out what to do. Or, too angry. She hasn't decided yet. The sting of her cheek is distracting. </p><p> </p><p>Eve lets her hands fall away to her thighs, palms facing upwards, "I meant <em>all</em>of those things I just said, Villanelle. I don't know what any of this means, and it scares me, okay? <em>Fuck,</em>" she runs her hands over her face, at the sight of Villanelle's jaw tensing, "But I still.. <em>want </em>you. It doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. That's what I figured out, <em>okay</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares, unblinking.</p><p> </p><p>"I want you, in ways that fucking terrify me, but I'm not interested in letting fear win out anymore. I've wanted you, from the start." Eve pauses, clenching and unclenching her fists, and Villanelle feels likes she's watching some sacred transformation.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's body shakes - with both fear and relief - as she allows the depths of her desires to coax themselves out into something tangible. Words that Villanelle can hear, can touch, can make sense of. Words that can ruin her night - maybe even her life. </p><p> </p><p>"I knew it when I saw you in the bathtub. I knew it after I kissed you on the roof. I knew it before I texted you to come here. <em>Fuck</em>, Villanelle. I knew it from the second I saw you."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls her head back to look at Eve, closely. She searches the woman's eyes and she finds all the things Eve talks about - fear, desire, uncertainty, <em>will</em>. A range of emotion felt over a nonsensical expanse of time, all reflected in Eve's eyes as she looks at her. </p><p> </p><p>It paralyzes her. </p><p> </p><p>Her hand doesn't move from her face, and her body doesn't move towards Eve. Their eyes search one another's faces, and their chests move in a rhythmic motion - chests heaving with labored breaths. Villanelle lets her hand fall away from her face, and her eyebrows knit together as she clarifies Eve's words, "So.. you want me, and you're scared?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve exhales, "Yes. That's.. the jist of it." </p><p> </p><p>"But you want me <em>more </em>than you're scared?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle allows her body the time to register Eve's words. She does not try to quell the erratic movement of her heart, or the way the nerves come alive under her fingertips. She does not try to to fight the material in her hands as it transforms from a towel, back into a rope. She does not try to fight the warmth that spreads through her chest - neither the hope, or the anger.</p><p> </p><p>"You could not have started with that, Eve?!" Villanelle yells, because she can't help it. She can't help the anger that bubbles in her chest - bubbles in a well of confusion, but she can't help but notice that some of those bubbles spill into a well of new-found clarity, either.</p><p> </p><p>"I wanted to tell you everything! It made more sense to start there!"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle inhales sharply; exhales softly.</p><p> </p><p>She holds Eve's eye contact, before shaking her head, and collapsing back onto the couch cushions. Eve doesn't move - she just watches Villanelle carefully, from a standing position above her. Always above her, it seems. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle closes her eyes, listening to the careful rhythm of Eve's breath as it transitions from something labored to something quiet and rhythmic. Eve's breath becomes baited, and Villanelle feels baited, too. Like a worm on a fishing hook. Waiting to be thrown to the water.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle opens her eyes, slowly, letting them focus on Eve, before saying, "I have told you this before, Eve, but I feel that it warrants reiterating. You are a shit communicator."</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws, "You were the one who was about to leave before I could even get the words out!"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs, "You <em>slapped </em>me!"</p><p> </p><p>"You wouldn't listen to me! I didn't have a choice!" </p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, before lowering herself back down onto the couch beside Villanelle, and her shoulders deflate as she studies the blonde's profile. She reaches out a slow hand, and when Villanelle doesn't recoil, she places it on her cheek. Villanelle hates the way she leans into it, hates the way her heart flutters when Eve's thumb rubs to move away the sting on her flesh, hates the softness of Eve's voice when she asks, "Did it hurt?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle replies, with a snort, before letting her eyes fall on Eve's, "Are you going to apologize to me?"</p><p> </p><p>"No."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head softly, her words gliding across Eve's palm, "No."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I guess that's where we are, then." Eve relays, slowly. </p><p> </p><p>"I guess so."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls her shoulders up into a shrug, but they feel weighted under the intensity of Eve's eyes. Pupils slowly expanding until Eve's just become two big whirlpools of black - threatening to consume her. What is worse is that Villanelle is sitting back, waiting to be consumed.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle watches as Eve lips stretch into a slow smile. Wide, and knowing.</p><p> </p><p>So, Villanelle smiles too.</p><p> </p><p>It's the last thing their lips do as separate entities - before Eve comes crashing forward, and their mouths meet in a  beautiful collision. It is as messy as the first time, but this time when Eve kisses her, it feels like an offering. It is not a meeting in the middle, it is not an attempt to take something into her body so she can dissect it and figure it out. No, it is an exchange. Eve giving Villanelle what she can, and Villanelle accepting it, with a hungry mouth, and giving it right back.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hands find a resting place on the back of Eve's neck, and she lets her fingers tangle in the woman's curls. It feels the way she suspected it would - feeling Eve's hair knit through her fingers - but nothing beats the feeling of <em>knowing</em>. She figured that Eve's hair would feel like strands of gold against her palm, but she didn't <em>know </em>that something so beautiful could feel so light in her hands. She moans, voice lusty with <em>knowing</em>, as she pulls Eve to come closer.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's body moves the way that it <em>knows </em>it has to. Their lips don't part as Eve climbs into her lap until she straddles Villanelle's hips; their lips don't part when Eve moans at the contact. Their lips stay locked together, despite it all, and it serves as a testimony to some sort of wholeness. A confirmation that their bodies feel much better when they allow them to come together.</p><p> </p><p>When Eve does separate their lips to place wet kisses along Villanelle's jawline, the movements are calculated; confident, as if woman is carving out spaces in Villanelle's body for her to seep into. Villanelle's eyes flutter close as the feeling of warm wetness of Eve's lips as she nips gently at the skin of her neck, and wherever Eve's teeth make contact, Villanelle feels a burning hole long after they leave. Eve bites into Villanelle the way one would bite  into an apple - carving out a space with her teeth, savoring the bite, until it is time to carve out another space. Villanelle still finds a way to mourn the absence of Eve's mouth on hers.</p><p> </p><p>That is the problem with <em>knowing</em>. It makes one selfish.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle tilts Eve's chin up, so that their lips can find each other again. She lets her tongue trace a line across Eve's lower lip, and Eve trembles with the contact - trembles, all over. She can feel the trembling of Eve's hands as the woman works to pull at Villanelle's shirt. When they separate, briefly, so that her shirt can be pulled over head and thrown onto the floor, she can feel the tremble of Eve's tongue when it comes crashing back into her mouth. </p><p> </p><p>It becomes a tug-of-war, trembling tongues fighting for dominance, until Villanelle pulls away so she can pull Eve's shirt over her head. An eye for an eye, but the whole world is not blind. Villanelle sees everything, when they take a moment to look at each other. The air feels eerily still - like it did, the first time they met - but it feels sharp with opposing emotions. A thousand truths, a thousand lies, a hundred goods, and a hundred evils. When Villanelle lays a palm against the trembling skin of Eve's stomach, she feels all of them.</p><p> </p><p>Eve swallows, as she undoes Villanelle's bra, and then she swallows again, at the sight of Villanelle's bare chest. Her eyes are fully black, so black that Villanelle figures she should be able to see herself reflected in them, but she does not. She does not see anything but Eve. Eve who knows. Eve, who is desperate to know more. Eve who takes another bite.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is patient, love is kind.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve's hands shake with impatience as they push on Villanelle's chest, caressing her breasts, before pushing her down on the couch, until she is laid on her back. When Eve climbs atop of her and leans down to kiss her, it does not feel patient. It feels like a rectification. A need to instill her presence into Villanelle's body, when it has been absent for much too long.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's hips grind down against Villanelle's, and the blonde gasps into her mouth, needy and desperate, for more than just friction. Eve swallows that need - it travels down her throat, until it reaches her fingers, and her hands work desperately at the button on Villanelle's jeans. It is not patient when she pulls Villanelle pants down her legs, and it is not patient when Villanelle takes over the duty, sliding them off with her feet with her heels. It is not patient when Villanelle nips at the crook of Eve's jawline - moaning in a way that sounds a lot more like a <em>plead</em>, against her skin - and Eve only pulls her panties down just enough, until her impatience wins out, completely. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her underwear doesn't make it more than halfway down her thighs before Eve eyes her, carefully. Villanelle sees her question, and she manages a single nod, before she loses herself in the blackness of Eve's pupils. She loses herself, until Eve presses into her. One finger, then two, and Villanelle quickly loses herself in the palm of Eve's hand, instead.</p><p> </p><p>The movements are clumsy and fast, disjointed even, but what Eve lacks in experience - she makes up for in desire. Eve moves in and out of her, with a powerful thirst - unknown and inexplicable - and Villanelle is not sure has never felt the rawness of somebody else's want being pushed into her. She has never felt so wanted - she never imagined that she could feel this wanted. And she has imagined this, a thousand times over. She has imagined it in a thousand different ways - her fucking Eve, Eve on her back, Eve on her hands and knees - but never in a thousand years, did she ever imagine Eve <em>taking </em>her.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's fingers curl with <em>want</em>, and <em>more</em>, until she finds a natural rhythm. Villanelle lets out a cry into her neck, but Eve lowers her face - pushes their lips together so she can hold it in her mouth. It isn't until her cries dies somewhere in the back of Eve's throat, and their mouths separate, that Villanelle is able to watch as Eve's face twists something that <em>needs</em>more. </p><p> </p><p>Eve looks down at her fingers, and Villanelle watches the singular experience of somebody feeling jealous of their own body. She doesn't understand why Eve removes her fingers. She doesn't understand until Eve is crawling down her body, that Eve has removed her fingers, because they are getting to touch a place of Villanelle body that her mouth hasn't yet.</p><p> </p><p>When Eve's mouth moves against her, replacing the absence of her fingers with the presence of her tongue, she lets a hand come down to knot in Eve's hair - something to hold onto as her body threatens to come undone completely. She lets the other hand come to fall over her mouth - to stifle the cries escaping her lips - and she misses Eve's mouth, but she praises it, at the very same time. The parts of her body that are not currently touching Eve envy the parts that do, and the envy wins out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When stars start blurring the corner of her visions, she tugs on Eve's hair until the woman's face is pulled away from her wetness. She tugs again, until Eve gets the idea - and crawls back up Villanelle's body. Eve's breasts push against hers, and Villanelle fits her hips into the indents of Eve's jean-clad thighs, and it is only when Villanelle is confident that there is no part of their body that aren't touching, she captures Eve's mouth in a desperate kiss - tasting her wetness as it clings to the woman's lips. Eve slides back into her - three fingers, this time - and Villanelle feels the sin her body is about to commit. She bites into Eve's lip, as the wrongness of her impatience pools deep in her waist, but when Eve moans into her mouth, she knows it's a lost cause.</p><p> </p><p>She unravels underneath the weight of Eve's palm, underneath the taste of herself on Eve's lips, underneath the noise of want Eve breathes into her mouth. Her body tightens with a thousand knots, all begging to untied, and her vision blurs with a thousand tiny stars, all begging to explode and die out. They all take up residency within her, at the very same time - but when Eve's palm slides against her clit, she cries out; loses control of all of them. The knots untie, the stars explode, and she is quickly reduced to nothing but a body - trembling and shaking and powerless against Eve's hand. Eve holds her close, as her body shakes with the last lingers of her orgasm, until Villanelle collapses back into the couch cushions. Eve collapses on top of her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Theybecome nothing more than a sweaty entanglement of limbs; heavy breaths. Eve pants against the skin of Villanelle's collarbone, still inside of her, while Villanelle takes a moment to regain touch with her own breathing. Regain touch with a world she feels she was ripped from, temporarily. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve rests her chin against Villanelle's chest, looking up at her with with bruised lips and brown eyes, it brings her right back. Eve has the audacity to look bashful when she asks, "Is it weird that I don't want to move my hand just yet?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs. It is the only sound that makes sense when a thousand different emotions bubble in her chest. Affection, warmth, wholeness, <em>shock</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Mostly shock, at Eve who is looking up at her with a soft gaze and pink cheeks, after she fucked her like that. Shock at the Eve in front of her, who Villanelle wants to hold and take in all of her happy. Shock at the Eve who hovered above her moments ago, eyes black and mouth unforgiving, who Villanelle wanted to have a thousand times over until their bodies couldn't anymore. Shock, that both of these feelings exist at the same time. Shock that she even feels shock, when she knows there are a thousand different dimensions of Eve, and she wants every single one.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, no," Villanelle replies, voice as lusty as her eyes, as she kisses the sweaty crown of Eve's forehead, "But, it is a problem."</p><p> </p><p>"A problem?" Eve quirks an eyebrow, her voice rounding out with a confused concern as she removes her fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs, bringing a hand up to smooth some of the fly-away hairs from Eve's forehead.</p><p> </p><p>"You are still wearing pants, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows raise, before they relax into something understanding, until they relax above her eyes that shift black yet again, "That's a problem, huh?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hugely." Villanelle leans up to kiss Eve once more, and she tightens her thighs around Eve's hips before flipping them, until Eve is on her back, and Villanelle is on top of her. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle takes her time. She takes her time when she places a slow, wet kiss to Eve's lip, she takes her time to feel the vibration of Eve's moans against her mouth, she takes her time when she trails her tongue down Eve's sternum; takes her time when she palms Eve's breast in her hand. She has waited for this, and so she figures Eve can wait too.</p><p> </p><p>When she pulls Eve's jeans and underwear off with one slow movement, she sits back on her haunches - incapable of doing anything but admiring Eve's body in its fullness. It spurs two different reactions in her body: her throat goes very dry, and the heat between her legs grows very wet. Eve squirms under the weight of her stare, and she moves to cover her chest with an arm, seemingly subconsciously, but Villanelle grabs her wrist - stilling the movement.</p><p> </p><p>She swallows, letting her eyes trail up to Eve's eyes. Her voice brims with a stern reverence when she says, "You are very beautiful, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, quietly, at that, and Villanelle leans forward to swallow it. The sound dies in Eve's mouth, and Villanelle replaces it with her tongue - and their kiss, this time, feels a lot more languid, but no less charged. She pushes a thigh against wet heat between Eve's lengths, and she savors the noise that escapes Eve's mouth, as result. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, Villanelle takes her time, because it is something they have now. </p><p> </p><p>When Villanelle moves in her, Eve arches her hips to meet her thrusts, and she curls her fingers with the merciless intent to return the very favor Eve gave her, and then some. When she takes Eve's nipple in her mouth, and Eve hand knots painfully into her hair, she savors the pain as much as she savors the pleasure. When she slides her tongue through Eve's folds, and finally picks up the pace with her fingers, Eve comes undone against her face - body trembling with a force that was never meant to be kept inside of her, and Villanelle takes on the weight, willingly. Eve unravels, and Villanelle doesn't only get to watch it happen, she gets to taste it. </p><p> </p><p>She pulls herself up from between Eve's legs, lips as shimmery as her eyes, as she crawls back up Eve's body. When she leans down to kiss her, Eve swipes at her lip, wiping away some of her wetness, before leaning forward. Villanelle recoils, quirking two confused brows, and her voice carries a level of upset, "You do not want to taste yourself, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares at her, unblinking, before crashing forward and capturing Villanelle's lips in their entirety - sticky with her own wetness, and bruised by her own wants. Villanelle hums into it.</p><p> </p><p>It is perseverance.</p><p> </p><p>It is coming undone, to come together.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls away from the kiss, slowly, before delivering a small peck to the corner of Eve's lip before asking, "Are you tired?"</p><p> </p><p>"Wide awake." Eve exhales a breathy laugh, "Are you tired?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not at all." Villanelle bites her lip, and raises her brow, "Crazy idea here, Eve. But what if we tried having sex.. on the bed?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, loud and free, before pulling Villanelle's hand, and leading her to her bedroom.</p><p> </p><p> They have sex on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>But, they have sex on the floor, and against Eve's dresser, too.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lays on her stomach, as the sun begins to peek through the window of Eve's bedroom. She has one leg thrown over Eve's, and she rests her cheek against crossed arms, while Eve traces lazy trails up and down her spine. Her eyes are closed, but she is not asleep yet. Her body still burns with a thousand touches, and it's still winding down. Like a fire that somebody doused water on, but the embers still crackle. </p><p> </p><p>She had wondered what Eve would be like, in bed, many times. She wondered if Eve would be a gentle lover - soft and intimate like the way she was when she left Villanelle hold her in the hotel room. She wondered if Eve would make love the same way she did everything - messy, and imprecise, and full of motivation. Villanelle shouldn't be surprised that it ended up being a combination of the two. She figures that as long as she knows Eve, she will always be surprised.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's barely-conscious voice pulls her from her thoughts, lethargic and peaceful, "What are you thinking about?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle peeks an eye open, but she is <em>not </em>surprised to find Eve staring at her, searching her face with tired eyes. She could feel it. Villanelle leans forward to kiss the spot on Eve's cheek below her eye, before resting her head back on her arms. "Mm, sex. You. I am thinking about these things together."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes at that, but it doesn't hold any weight, "I really should not be surprised." She shakes her head, and Villanelle watches as a faint timidness comes to rest in her eyes, "Was that.. <em>good</em>? For you, I mean."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle exhales a laugh into her arm, shaking her head slightly. Only Eve could look shy after giving her the best orgasm of her life. It is very silly. She decides to say, as much. </p><p> </p><p>"I do not know if I should tell you this, because I am scared what it will do to your ego. But, I have never come that fast before."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes lose their timid nature, and her smile curls into something triumphant when she says, "I will pass my thanks along to Natasha." </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Ew</em>, Eve." Villanelle scoffs, reaching her hand up to push Eve's cheek away, "I do not want to think about <em>Natasha</em> right now. Do not bring her into this."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, before looping an arm around Villanelle's waist, and the blonde shuffles closer. She throws her leg over Eve's waist, and settles for tracing her fingers along the woman's collarbones - sheets pooled at their waists. A silence stretches between them, and she asks a little nervously, "What were you thinking about?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Eve shakes her head, and Villanelle can hear her smirk without seeing it, "I was just looking at you. You're so.. <em>pretty</em>," Eve relays the word in a way that sounds almost disgust, and Villanelle scoffs, "Too pretty to touch, almost."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls her head up to regard Eve with quirked brows, "I am very touchable, Eve. Please, always touch me."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, before pushing Villanelle's head back down to her shoulder, and the blonde relents when Eve says, "Go to sleep, asshole."</p><p> </p><p>"Fine. But only because I am very tired from all of the.. <em>touching</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs, rolling over so that Villanelle is faced with her back. Villanelle is fine with that, though, she just loops an arm around Eve's waist and tucks her forehead into her hair.</p><p> </p><p>She likes being the big spoon, anyways. She likes holding Eve.</p><p> </p><p>"Good night, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"It's 6 A.M."</p><p> </p><p>"Good morning, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve groans, "Go to fucking sleep, Villanelle."</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>God created the Universe in six days, and he took the seventh day to rest. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thinks about this, as she walks back to Eve's apartment with two coffees in her hands.  Her body aches with each movement, and she begins to understand why God sanctified the seventh day; made it holy, made it a day of rest.</p><p> </p><p>God created the Universe in six days. </p><p> </p><p>She created a Universe with Eve, in one night. </p><p> </p><p><em>Okay, </em>she is being dramatic - but her body feels exhausted with having given, taken, exchanged. Her fingers stretch with strain as she unlocks the door to <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>with Eve's keys, her legs ache as they climb the stairs to Eve's apartment, and when she cranes her neck a little too much to one side, she feels the ache of bruising along her jugular. That is her favorite part, maybe. A dozen a little bruises, a dozen little holes - each one of them spelling out <em>Eve, Eve, Eve</em>.</p><p> </p><p>God took the seventh day to rest, and that rest probably did not include bringing his lover coffee in bed, while she lays sprawled naked under the sheets.</p><p> </p><p>When she had woken up that morning, to the stir of Eve's body, she waited with baited breath as the woman regained consciousness. When Eve opened her eyes, it felt like a make-or-break moment. She waited to see what would happen: If Eve would sober, if her eyes would fill regret, and her body would brim with remorse at the night before, or if she would take Villanelle into her arms, eyes swimming with gratitude, over the way she had made her body sore. Neither of these things happened.</p><p> </p><p>Eve opened her eyes. She blinked a couple of times, forgoing a <em>Good morning </em>kiss in favor of asking Villanelle, "So, are you getting the coffee or am I?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolled her eyes, more so the at the subconscious stirring of her body getting out of bed before she could register it, but also at Eve's nonchalance. Eve is romantic, <em>sometimes</em>- probably never in the morning, definitely not before she's had her coffee. It only makes sense.</p><p> </p><p>But when she crawled over Eve's body after clothing her body, and puckered her lips for a kiss as payment, it still felt very romantic the way Eve smiled against her lips.</p><p> </p><p>When she waltzes back into the bedroom, holding the coffees in her hands, and bellows a "<em>Deliveeeery</em>!", Eve groans before shoving her face into the pillow. Villanelle smiles, plopping into a seated position next to Eve's torso, before the woman lifts a hand to claw the coffee cup from Villanelle's palm. </p><p> </p><p>"Brave of you to raise your voice to that volume before I've had my first sip," Eve grumbles into the lid of her drink, and takes a small swallow of the liquid. Villanelle watches the movement of her throat as she does.</p><p> </p><p>"I thought it would be fine." Villanelle pauses to waggle her eyebrows, "Seeing as you raised your voice much louder than that many times, last night." </p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, before pulling her body into a sitting position, and resting her back against the pillows. She holds her coffee cup with two hands, sipping it gingerly, and Villanelle allows her eyes to trace along the slopes of Eve's unclothed shoulders. She swallows a sip of her own coffee, and the caffeine does not to help quell the soft fluttering of her heart. It only makes it worse.</p><p> </p><p>"My body feels like it got hit by a truck," Eve laughs, breathily.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle leans back on her elbow, before poking her lower lip into a pout, "Poor baby."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, shut up. You're not sorry."</p><p> </p><p>"No, not at all." She pauses, before asking, "What time do you work, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve glances at the clock on her nightstand, "Not until four," she pauses before asking, "You?"</p><p> </p><p>"Funny. I do not have to go in until four either!"</p><p> </p><p>"You make your own schedule, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, and I just made it."</p><p> </p><p>Eve raises her eyebrow. Villanelle levels her eye contact. </p><p> </p><p>Eve sets her coffee cup on the nightstand, not looking away from Villanelle's eyes when she says, "Take off your clothes."</p><p> </p><p>She does.</p><p> </p><p>If Eve's body is sore, Villanelle supposes she should not be the one laying on her back. Eve doesn't seem to mind though, not when Villanelle guides her hips until Eve hovers over her face. She makes many noises, not a single one of them a complaint, when she lowers herself onto Villanelle's mouth. If Eve's body is sore, Villanelle can not tell from the way Eve rolls her hips against her mouth. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They find themselves, still in bed, as early afternoon creeps in through the window. They are pooled together - a mess of sweaty limbs, and sore muscles made sore once again - under the sheets, as they pant shakey breaths against each other's skin. </p><p> </p><p>Eve is curled into Villanelle's side, and Villanelle traces her hand over the expanse of Eve's hips. It is nice to touch Eve, she decides, in more way that one. Sex is nice - and so, is this.</p><p> </p><p>"God, I have never had sex like that before," Eve breaths a shaky laugh into the crook of space between Villanelle's shoulder and neck, "I don't even know if I should call it sex. Body worship?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's body stills a bit at the use of the word. <em>Worship</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She wants to shake her head and say, <em>No, not it is not, Eve</em>, but she thinks that would kill the moment. Instead, she continues tracing lines along the length of Eve's torso, before letting her eyes fall on the TV, "You have a TV at the foot of your bed, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's voice comes out a little apprehensive, "Uh.. yes?"</p><p> </p><p>"Should we watch a movie before you have to go to work?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know if I have the brain capacity for a movie," Eve hoists herself up onto her elbow, looking at Villanelle with lethargic gaze, "I don't know if my brain is capable of retaining much of anything, right now."</p><p> </p><p>"Me either." Villanelle shrugs, "I just wanted an excuse to stay in bed."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I wasn't planning on getting out of bed."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyes go a little hooded, and she quirks an expectant brow at Eve.</p><p> </p><p>"Not like that, you freak." Eve rolls her eyes, before collapsing back onto her side, "I'm too.. <em>raw</em>, right now."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pouts.</p><p> </p><p>"So you want to stay in bed, but not have sex, and <em>also </em>not watch a movie?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve throws up her white flag when she rolls off of Villanelle, "Oh, for fuck's sake. Put on whatever you want."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle does not put on a movie. She feels similar to Eve - her brain feels incapable of retaining anything that does not have to do with the woman's touch, but she wanted an excuse to have something playing on the TV that can reign her thoughts back in, whenever they start to linger. Some nature documentary about Swans plays in the background, as they sip their coffees. </p><p> </p><p>Eve lays curled on her side, sheets pooled at her hips, and she props her cheek on her palm when she says, "I didn't know they mated for life."</p><p> </p><p>"Me either," Villanelle replies, with a snort, "It makes sense though. They are.. mean birds, Eve. They probably do not have rich love lives."</p><p> </p><p>"You don't like birds?" Eve asks, incredulous.</p><p> </p><p>"Not big ones. They are.. menacing," Villanelle's lip curls in disgust, and Eve just shakes her, mouthing a silent, <em>Wow</em>.</p><p> </p><p>They fall into an easy silence, one accompanied by the sound of swans quacking in the background until Eve breaks it, "Do you do this with all of your.. <em>lovers</em>? Watch movies afterwards?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs, "Firstly, Eve, do not call them lovers. Your age is showing," Eve swats at Villanelle's shoulder, and the blonde dodges it, "And, no. I generally prefer to leave as soon as possible."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Eve accepts it, with a hum, before asking, "Not even with.. Anna?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stills a little bit, and Eve's anxious energy comes alive in her arms when she waves a dismissive hand, "You don't have to talk about her. I'm sorry. I'm just.. <em>curious</em>, I guess."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Eve is curious? Big surprise.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle inhales, letting her hand fall away from her face, before giving Eve a small smile, "I will tell you about Anna, Eve. I do not mind."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows knit into a curious string, and her mouth moves slowly, "But, last night. You said.."</p><p> </p><p>"I did not want to talk about her last night, because I did not want to lose sight of our conversation," Villanelle sighs, it is the truth, but she omits the truth that sounds a little more like: <em>I did not want you to change your mind</em>, "But I do not mind talking about her, now. If you want to know."</p><p> </p><p>"Right.. now?" Eve's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, as she looks down at her unclothed body, before looking back to Villanelle.</p><p> </p><p>"Sure." Villanelle shrugs, "But keep your shirt off."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, and Villanelle starts.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about adding a forewarning: <em>Fine, but it is not pretty </em>but she figures that it is needless information. Pretty things are not hard hard to talk about. That's why her conversations with Eves are never easy. So, she finds an ugly beginning.</p><p> </p><p>"She was my professor at the University of Moscow." Villanelle starts slowly, tracing lazy lines with her fingertips up and down Eve's forearm, "I met her half-way through my first year, after I switched from Business to Interior Design. She was my first class of the day." Villanelle shakes her head, the ghost of a smile lingering on her lips, "I will never forget the first time I saw her, when I walked in. She seemed very.. <em>strange</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Strange</em>?" Eve quirks a brow. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle replies, "She seemed very.. restrained, in a way I did not know people could be. I walked into her lecture room, and when I looked at her, I felt like I was looking at a caged animal. She was very composed, very.. <em>professional</em>," Eve scoffs, and Villanelle continues, "but when we made eye contact, there was something.. <em>strange</em>about it. Like there was something wild underneath the surface, begging to break free."</p><p> </p><p>As Villanelle recounts it, she lets her eyes fall on Eve's - big and brown, full of endless curiosities. She realizes how different it was from the first time she saw Eve. She pauses, to consider.</p><p> </p><p>Anna was reminiscent of something quiet. She looked at Villanelle like she was a suicidal bunny, and Villanelle was a hungry fox. Anna looked at Villanelle like she was begging to be consumed. </p><p> </p><p>Eve was reminiscent of something loud. Villanelle heard the noise, the first moment she saw her. She looked at Villanelle like she was an untamed lion - hair flowing as wild as her eyes - but she looked at Villanelle like she was a lion, too. Two hungry creatures meeting somewhere free, with nothing to satisfy their hunger but each other. Eve looked at her like she was begging to consume her. Villanelle looked at her the very same way.</p><p> </p><p>"That's.. <em>poetic</em>?" Eve offers, after a few beats of silence stretch between them, and Villanelle blinks herself out of her daze. She continues tracing shapes into Eve's skin.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about Anna's erratic eyes looking so out of place on her still body, before continuing, "Mm, it was not poetic. It was.. intriguing, though. I was very interested to.. know what was going on underneath the surface." <em>Taste it</em>, she thinks, "She tried to ignore me, in the beginning."</p><p> </p><p>"She would ignore my raised hands, and provide little feedback on my notes. But, I worked hard enough to the point where she could not ignore me. I was already interested in Interior Design, so it was easy." Villanelle pauses, with a smirk, "Believe it or not, I am very studious, Eve. Just like you."</p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks a skeptical brow, "Just like <em>me</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, you are very studious, Eve. A fast learner, one may say," Villanelle waggles her fingers, as if to corroborate the point she's making, and Eve rolls her eyes, smacking her hand away.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's props her elbow up to rest her cheek in her hand, ignoring Villanelle's comment in favor of getting back to the story, "Why did she ignore you, in the beginning?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes this time<em>. All work, no play.</em></p><p> </p><p>"Why wouldn't she? She was a professor, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"Sure, but it's not like you two.. <em>did anything</em>, at that point."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, exhaling with a shrug, "It is a feeling."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares at her.</p><p> </p><p>"That feeling when you make eye contact with somebody, and something is just.. <em>there</em>. Lust, maybe. Desire. Maybe a little bit of something else." Villanelle shrugs, because it is needless to explain to the very woman who looks at her with eyes full of this, but she will spell it out, "I felt it. So did Anna. It is a very funny thing to try to fight, no? Something that doesn't even exist, officially. But she did not try to fight it for long."</p><p> </p><p>Eve shoulder's recoil only slightly at that, and Villanelle watches the movement with a raised brow. She lets her hand still on Eve's forearm - no longer tracing shapes, but maintaining a point of connection. </p><p> </p><p>"I excelled past the other students, but the feedback I was getting on my notes was still.. <em>shit</em>. Barely there. So, I stayed after class one day to bring it up with her." Villanelle inhales, holding her breath, and she exhales with a shakey laugh, "I argued my points and she changed my grade from <em>Meets Expectations </em>to <em>Excellent</em>, with little fight. That made me angry, for some reason. The way she just.. <em>gave in</em>." </p><p> </p><p>Yet, another way that Anna is very different from Eve - she realizes this as she lets her eyes trace the frown lines on Eve's face, the permanent wrinkle between her brow. Always curious, never relenting.</p><p> </p><p>Anna wore stubbornness as a facade, more than anything, but Eve wears her stubbornness with shame. A suit of armor she can can't climb out of. These things have both made her angry, but in very different ways. Villanelle finds honor in Eve's stubbornness, where she only found weakness in Anna's.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle blows some air out of her cheeks, with the realization.</p><p> </p><p>"We argued for a very long time. For hours, actually. We argued until it just turned into.. <em>talking</em>." Villanelle shakes her head, "We talked about designers. Elsie De Wolfe and Madeleine Castaing. We had similar taste. We both liked color - which was unusual given the design scene in Russia at the time. It was.. mm, <em>minimalistic</em>. Drab."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle draws her shoulders up, "It became a daily routine."</p><p> </p><p>"What, <em>arguing</em>?" Eve laughs.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, "Sometimes, but she gave in very easily. The fights never lasted for long."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares.</p><p> </p><p>She does not need to note the way in which this separates Anna and Eve. Villanelle and Eve have been fighting since the moment they met. It is a fight that has never ended - it has just taken intermissions. Even now, as they talk calmly, they are still fighting, in some way.</p><p> </p><p>"I started staying after lectures. We would talk while she graded papers. About designers, until there were no more designers to talk about." Villanelle inhales, and the air pokes at her ribcage like an unwelcome visitor, "So, we started talking about other things. Life. Russia. Her husband."</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets out a shaky laugh. It is interesting, because it is not funny.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps, this is the first story she has shared that is harder for Eve to hear, than it is hard for Villanelle to talk about. Perhaps, there should be a sense of power in that. There isn't, though. Villanelle's forehead creases, as she chews on the absence of it. She chews on the feeling of not wanting that power, in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>"She was very unhappy, and for some reason, I cared about that." Villanelle shakes her head,  "It started out very simple. I had never met somebody so.. <em>tightly wound</em>. I wanted to be the person to make her unravel."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle remembers the sense of power she felt in this situation, and then the sense of losing it. </p><p> </p><p>"Somewhere along the line, it became something deeper than that. I wanted her to be happy."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's body uncurls from the shape its in, and the movement looks almost.. <em>unwilling</em>. This is the party in the story where Eve's spine straightens in to something to begging to be of service. A vessel that is ready to comfort Villanelle, when she needs it. Villanelle can't help but let out a breathy laugh at the juxtaposition. She can't help but laugh because she does not need Eve's comfort - not in this way, over Anna. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle barely thinks about Anna, anymore. </p><p> </p><p>She wonders what shape Eve's body would take if it was the current culprit of Villanelle's distress. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe her spine would curl into nothing more than a question mark.</p><p> </p><p>She caresses the skin of Eve's arm with her thumb - gentle circles that spell out <em>I'm fine, </em>and <em>do not get worked up </em>- and Eve relaxes back into the position, on her side. Her eyes don't shift to anything less concerned, though.</p><p> </p><p>"I told her as much, one day." Villanelle shrugs, looking non-plussed, "She knew that I was interested in her. I had made passes, of course. Nothing more than playful flirtation that she would dismiss, but after I told her that I cared about her, something.. <em>shifted</em>." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's lips crease into a thin smile, "She kissed me, after that."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes widen, and she leans forward, "She kissed you first?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. Funny, no?" Villanelle laughs, but Eve does not seem to find it very funny, "I did not know she had it in her."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's stare goes a little unfocused as she recounts the memory. It plays behind her eyes like a TV that has been left on the wrong channel. She remembers it as something distant, something shaky, something staticky. She remembers it for nothing more than what it was: a mistake. </p><p> </p><p>"Things were different, after that. She did not try to fight herself. At the time, I thought it was brave."<em>It was not</em>, Villanelle doesn't add, because she figures subtle disgust edging her tone says as much, "Her husband was a professor, too, and he would travel for work. He would leave on the weekends to give lectures in neighboring cities, so I would stay. He would leave and Anna and I would play house for the weekend, and it seemed to make her very happy. For a time."</p><p> </p><p>Eve unpurses her lips, and a slow questions falls from them, "Were you happy?"</p><p> </p><p>"I thought so."</p><p> </p><p>"Were you actually happy?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, swallows a word that has no use fitting itself into her answer, "It felt nice to be wanted."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm."</p><p> </p><p>"We would have a lot of sex. We would cook together. Normal stuff. We never watched movies though, to answer your question, Eve. She did not like them. <em>Weird</em>, right?" Villanelle throws Eve a quizzical glances, and Eve confirms this with a slow nod. "She would talk about running away. Leaving Moscow for somewhere else. Leaving Max. So, I started planning." </p><p> </p><p>"Max.. was her husband?" Eve asks, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. <em>Max</em>." Villanelle spits, rather than says, his name.</p><p> </p><p>"It wasn't until I told her this that things started to.. <em>unravel</em>." Villanelle shakes her head, a smirk curling her lips, "It is another thing that is funny, no? That you do the exact thing a person has been wanting and that is what makes them turn away from you? It makes no sense."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's words fall from her mouth a little sharply, and Eve looks a little meek. Her shoulders recoil slightly, but she can tell the other woman is trying her best to remain composed. If Eve internalizes her words as sharp objects to cut herself on, Villanelle can do nothing about that.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is not Anna. Villanelle knows this. Eve knows this. But perhaps, the small overlaps strike a sensitive chord in Eve's heart. Perhaps, it hurts Eve to know that she has <em>felt </em>like Anna.</p><p> </p><p>"She was always talking about running away. <em>Escaping</em>. She never shut up about it. Kind of annoying, actually." Villanelle laughs, closed-mouth and breathy, and she back onto the pillows, "But, she had no desire to ever actually do so. It took me a long time to figure it out, but eventually, I did." Villanelle hums, "<em>I </em>was the escape. A sliver of excitement in her otherwise <em>shit </em>life."</p><p> </p><p>Eve exhales, scooting closer so that she can rest a palm on Villanelle's chest, and Villanelle quirks an eyebrow when Eve's shoulders relax a bit. There is still a weight placed precariously upon them - but Villanelle can't decipher whether it is because Eve can relate to Anna, or because Eve empathizes with her side. She can't decipher it any further when Eve asks, "What did you do?"</p><p> </p><p>"I accused her of this." Villanelle replies slowly, her tongue feeling sticky in her mouth as her eyes flick from Eve's shoulders to her eyes, "She freaked out. People do that when they are accused of something they are doing."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs quietly, and she draws her gaze away from the woman's eyes. Eve's hand moves to trace the expanse of Villanelle's collarbones, and it is nothing more than a feather touch, but it grounds her. Light as a feather, heavy as her heart.</p><p> </p><p>"I told her that I was not interested in loving her like that anymore. On her schedule, I mean. Behind closed doors, when her husband was out of town." Villanelle clears her throat, tilting her chin up, "I told her that she needed to make a decision."</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence. </p><p> </p><p>Eve asks a stupid question, very slowly, "Did she?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence. Another stupid question.</p><p> </p><p>"She chose her husband?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle does not laugh this time.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence. Not another question, this time.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Why</em>?" Villanelle guffaws, tilting her head to look at Eve head-on, and the woman's eyes are coated in a sick sincerity.</p><p> </p><p>It is not.. <em>pity. </em>Eve does not give her that. It looks like something very simple. Eve just looks.. <em>sad</em>. For her. Villanelle swallows.</p><p> </p><p>"Because that must have hurt."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hesitates, "Little bit."</p><p> </p><p>"So that was it, then?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs, "No."</p><p> </p><p>"She made her choice, Eve. I begged her to make a different one," She lets her gaze fall to her hands as she wrings them together, she notices the way the feeling of shame gathers in her knuckles. "She did not."</p><p> </p><p>Eve holds her breath, until she asks, "So you left?"</p><p> </p><p>"Eventually."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Eventually</em>?" Eve questions, and Villanelle's pride takes a hit.</p><p> </p><p>"I told her husband, first. And then, yes, I left, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes widen, at that. Widen to meet the size of the story. Widen to meet the size of a massive conclusion that she could not have expected. Widen to meet the size of Villanelle's shame.</p><p> </p><p>"I visited him at the University he taught at. I told him that Anna and I had been seeing each other, in secret, for a year." Villanelle's voice grows smaller, as she gets to the part of the story she does not like to remember, "It is not as simple as coming clean about an affair, Eve. Russia does not take kindly to gay relationships, even now, so it was a.. <em>heavy</em>accusation."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's hand hesitates, stilling against her skin.</p><p> </p><p>It is a funny weight on her chest. Light as a feather, heavy as her heart, heavier with anticipation. </p><p> </p><p>"Did he believe you?" </p><p> </p><p>"Not at first. He did not want to. But eventually, he did not have a choice." Villanelle bites her lip, as she shakes her head.</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"He did not believe me, so I described the inside of his apartment." Villanelle shrugs, "He dismissed that. He said something about Anna tutoring students at her place; that anybody could know that. So, I dug deeper."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle clenches her fist, digging her nails into her palm, and she feels Eve's eyes fall upon them, but she can not help it. She digs her nails in, <em>deeper</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Anna has this beauty mark on her ass. I thought it was pretty at the time. In reality, it is weird-looking. I told him about this."</p><p> </p><p>A breathy laugh escapes her lips, and when Eve laughs a little too, she relaxes her fists.</p><p> </p><p>"She also makes a weird noise when she cums. A screech, almost. It is another thing that I found pretty at the time. Really, it is <em>shit</em> ugly." Villanelle laughs, and it's a little watery this time. Eve does not join in. "I told him all of this because I was.. desperate for something. I think I was desperate to prove something. To make it real. As if I could get him to believe me, then that would mean it actually happened."</p><p> </p><p>"Did that work?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh. It worked, Eve." Villanelle shakes her head, biting her lip. "He lost it, when he realized he could.. no longer deny it. He screamed, throwing papers and staplers and whatever else, until I left his lecture room. <em>Very</em>dramatic." Villanelle tuts, before adding, "But, it felt.. <em>good</em>. I felt like I had a sense of power in a situation where I was otherwise powerless."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's hand falls away from her chest, and Villanelle wonders if this is the part where Eve regains her power. If this is the part of the story where Eve is no longer focus on identifying with Anna, but focused on just how deep the fucked-up parts of Villanelle's character goes.</p><p> </p><p>"I was not a happy person, Eve." She admits, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head softly, scooting her body a little closer to Villanelle's, when she says, "You did the right thing, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle squaks at that. A sharp, piercing laugh. "No. I really did not," She can't even take a moment to relish in the false comfort of Eve's words, "He went to the school board."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't look at Eve when she hears the woman's subtle intake of breath. She doesn't look at the wide nature of Eve's eyes. She doesn't look anywhere, because her eyes can't focus.</p><p> </p><p>"I did not expect <em>that</em>. I expected him to leave her, maybe, or suggest they go to therapy, like a normal fucking person, but I did not expect him to take it the school board." Villanelle inhales, feels the ball of guilt radiating in her ribcage. She exhales, feels the ball of regret along side it. "It became a months-long series of interviews." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth moves quickly this time, her brain finally catching up, "Did - <em>did she come clean</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, "Never."</p><p> </p><p>"I did not say much. They would ask me questions like <em>Did you sleep with her?, </em><em>Did you seduce her?, How long did it last?" </em>Villanelle laughs humorlessly, "I never gave them more than basic responses."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle closers her eyes, and she feels Eve staring holes into her when she says, "She got fired, eventually. The last I heard, she is no longer allowed to teach in Russia, under any circumstance."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shakes her head, before opening her eyes to look at Eve, truthfully, "I never wanted that, Eve. I was young and stupid. I was many things, but I was hurt. I wanted her to hurt, too. But I did not mean to fuck up her entire life." </p><p> </p><p>"That isn't your fault, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle chokes a bit when she tries to swallow Eve's words, "Isn't it, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>"It isn't." Eve states, and Villanelle watches as Eve's eyes turn from something solemn and brown, to something black and deadly, "Did she try to tell you that it was?"</p><p> </p><p>"No." Villanelle replies, with a shake of her head. "As soon as the interviews ended, I applied to study aboard in New York. I have not spoken with Anna since."</p><p> </p><p>"Wow," Eve breathes out, and her breath feels heavy - like Villanelle's stomach.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. <em>Wow</em>." She tries to laugh, but the sound dies in her throat.</p><p> </p><p>"Look at me." Eve says, gently but sternly, and Villanelle inhales deeply, before doing so. When she does, Eve's eyes carry that intense heat - one that could indicate she's about to be on the receiving end of reprimanding, or an intense show of affection. Eve brings a hand up to cup Villanelle's cheek, and the affection burns a hole into her skin,  "<em>She </em>made her choices. Nobody held a gun to her head. She chose to do.. <em>everything </em>that she did with you, Villanelle. That is not your fault."</p><p> </p><p>She can see herself in the watery reflection of Eve's eyes. She can tell Eve is holding more words back. Probably something about how <em>Anna took advantage of you, Villanelle</em>. That is what Konstantin told her - and that is the only other experience she has to draw from. She has not told anybody since. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle struggles to continue, struggles to put forth an ugly ending to an ugly story, "You asked me if I loved her, that first time you came to Carolyn's."</p><p> </p><p>"I remember," Eve replies, slowly, "You said you didn't know."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I lied. I did not love her, Eve." Villanelle pauses, shaking her head with a sick smile, "I worshipped her."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares at her. She lets her hand falls away from Villanelle's shoulder, once more.</p><p> </p><p>"That is why I was always on my knees. I worshipped her. I was on my knees when I made love to her, and I begged her on my knees when she threatened to leave." Villanelle laughs, coldly, and the iciness of it sends a chill down Eve's spine. "I would have stayed on my knees, for a very long time, if I thought that would make her stay."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares at her, with an unreadable emotion, and Villanelle wonders if she's thinking about running. This is what Eve wanted, after all - to know the deepest depths of Villanelle. That is what Anna wanted, and when she gave it to her, she ran.</p><p> </p><p>But Eve is not Anna, and so she makes her point. </p><p> </p><p>She worshipped Anna. She held Anna in a delicate place - high on a pedestal that she could not touch, or damage with her dirty fingers.</p><p> </p><p>She does not worship Eve - no, she sees Eve with all of her messy insecurities and nuances. She wants Eve, even more than she ever wanted Anna. She sees the messy beauty of Eve's humanhood, and she's selfish enough to still want to dirty it with her fingers. With Anna, it was not dangerous - she remained on a pedestal, just out of reach. With Eve, she remains on equal ground - in reach, and Villanelle has reached; has dipped her fingers into the complexities of Eve's nature.</p><p> </p><p>"Fucked up, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve swallows, "Yes."</p><p> </p><p>"Did that confirm your fears, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's forehead creases, "What do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"You said you were scared about seeing yourself in her," Villanelle pauses, before asking, "Do you see yourself in her?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes widen in realization, making connection with a point long forgotten, and then.. she laughs.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs right in Villanelle's face.</p><p> </p><p>It is booming, and invasive, and as loud as it is confusing. The sound reverberates Villanelle's bones, and her jaw tenses so tightly that she feels capable of shattering her mandible.</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, until she says, "No. <em>God</em>, no."</p><p> </p><p>When the words break Eve's laugh into something quieter, Villanelle is finally able to place it. It is a laugh of relief, but that does nothing to quell Villanelle's confusion. Her body is overstimulated - continuous fluctuations from anger, to devastation, to confusion - that she can only stare at the other woman as her laughs dissipates into something barely-existent.</p><p> </p><p>"No, I do not see myself in Anna, Villanelle. <em>Jesus</em>, not at all." Eve manages, the lingering ghost of her laughter dissipating completely, as she exhales. She shakes her head, and Villanelle feels the tips of her hair glide across her shoulder, "It's a fucking relief, don't get me wrong. The idea paralyzed me. But even then, it wouldn't have changed my mind. Anna wanted something much different from what I want."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares. It's all she can do. Stare, unfocused, until Eve says something that will allow her a clear vision. </p><p> </p><p>Eve sobers, letting her eyes register Villanelle's confusion. Her voice reduces to something quiet; soft, something completely different from the laugh that just tore through her lips, when she says, "Anna wanted an escape. I just want you."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's brow creases as the words slide down her throat. It feels like a very sweet syrup - one that is easily swallowable, but one that could choke her if she's not careful. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps, this is the very last thing that separates Anna from Eve. Perhaps, it is the most important. Anna desired Villanelle because she was an escape. Eve is <em>scared</em> to desire Villanelle because it is an escape - out of her comfort zone, into the unknown, into a place full of many questions, and little answers. Anna ran away from her fears, but Eve runs towards them.</p><p> </p><p>She leans forward to capture Eve's lips in a passionate kiss - one that is all-enveloping, one that allows her to taste the depths of Eve's wants, of her fears. Eve sighs into her mouth, as if she's allowing a release, allowing Villanelle to carry some of her weight, and Villanelle accepts it gladly. She savors it in her mouth, before she pulls away.</p><p> </p><p>"Anna was older than you, you know," Villanelle replies, letting a few inches hang between their faces, and Eve's eyebrows shoot to her hairline at that.</p><p> </p><p>"That's.. <em>wow</em>." Eve's eyes trail across the room, before she asks, "Is this the part where you tell me you have mommy issues?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth hangs agape - because Eve does not tiptoe. No, she takes all of Villanelle's grief, all of her scars, and she accepts them. Eve learns to take all of these disgusting, ugly, things and turn them into something light; <em>laughable</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle surges forward, capturing Eve's lips in another kiss - this one feels a little more like a<em> thank you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Eve kisses her back, heartily, and Villanelle seizes the moment; kills it when she mutters a "<em>Probably</em>," against Eve's lips.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle!" Eve pushes her her shoulders back onto the bed, ceasing their kiss. But she is smiling, as she does it, and she smiles when she climbs to straddle Villanelle's thighs, and Villanelle relishes in hearing the sweetness of her name fall from those lips.</p><p> </p><p>They turn off the TV. They decide to use their remaining hours together in more constructive ways.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle relishes in hearing the sweetness of her name fall from Eve's lips many more times after that. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Eve kicks Villanelle out of her apartment right at <em>3:00</em>. Her excuse echoed something along the lines of having to shower, and make herself decent before work. Villanelle offered to join her, but Eve mentioned something about <em>actually </em>having to get ready for work, and just like that, Villanelle was banished back into the real world. Like a stray dog, forced to roam the streets, after getting to spend the night in a warm home.</p><p> </p><p>It feels much different to walk from Eve's apartment back to her hotel. She feels much lighter.</p><p> </p><p>God created the Universe in seven days, and Villanelle takes time to look at it, as she walks.</p><p> </p><p>It is funny how self-indulgent people can be - Villanelle feels like her world has shifted, like the sky is a little more blue, and the birds singer a prettier tune - and it is hard for her to understand how the people walking alongside her don't notice it, too. </p><p> </p><p>Then she remembers, their worlds haven't changed. Just hers, and Eve's.</p><p> </p><p>She feels the weight of it on her shoulders - the soreness in her arms, and the lack of sleep in her bones, as she treks a slow trail back to her hotel. God rested on the seventh day, but Villanelle will do no such thing. She will probably have to work late into the night, to make up for the time she spent with Eve, but it does not dismay her. It does not dismay her when she figures she will have another sleepless night ahead of her, when she returns to Eve's after she is done.</p><p> </p><p>God created the Universe in seven days.</p><p> </p><p>Eve and Villanelle created a Universe in fourteen days. Double the work.</p><p> </p><p>It feels much prettier than God's.</p><p> </p><p>Good things take time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TLDR: they f*cked</p><p>writing Villanelle's perspective/perception of Eve has come to be such an interesting challenge, as this stretches on! I only hope to capture it and do it justice, to the best of my ability! even when that is frustrating (lol), I really try to really chew on how she would internalize Eve's actions/inactions, what Eve says/doesn't say, etc. </p><p>thank you so much for taking the time to read this.. I don't want to be excessive with cramming thanks you into the beginning + end notes, but I hope the repetitive nature of them only allows you to know how much I mean them! all of my love, to each of you!</p><p>feel free to engage with me on the bird app: turtleduckxo</p><p>also.. top!Eve.. am I right?</p><p>P.S. - I know there is a special place in Hell for me for interweaving biblical verse thru Villaneve smut</p><p>P. P. S - next update may not come until Sunday, this time! it could very well come before that but much do at work this week.. so just wanted to drop ya’ll a line just in case! &lt;3</p><p>XOXO</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this one was a wild ride! I'm currently in the cycle of putting out on chapter I feel a heavy kinship with, and then putting out another that felt impossible to write. that's the beauty of fanfic, though - I'm constantly learning, and always striving to overcome the feelings of disjointed chapters as I try to force them to take a shape!</p><p>I appreciate all of taking the time to give me feedback, and the words you share with me that allow me to become a better writer! I can't say enough thank you's but I will try to cover a few: thank you, thank you, thank you, a thousand times over! I can't extend the depths of my gratitude, but it really means the world! </p><p>one more chapter.. I can not believe!</p><p>XOXO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle has come to experience time in two ways.</p><p> </p><p>When she is experiencing a bad stretch of time, it tends to feel sharp; lengthy. Like a long blade being pushed through her chest - it moves agonizingly slow, and she feels aware of the fact that it might never fully pass through her body. The blade of time feels sharp, long, and never-ending.</p><p> </p><p>When she is experiencing a good stretch of time, it tends to feel soft; pliable. Like she is holding a pool of liquid in her palms, trying to keep it from spilling over, but it leaks through her fingers regardless. The fluidity of time feels uncontainable, spilling from her palms before she has a chance to sip from it. </p><p> </p><p>When she is experiencing a bad and good stretch of time, simultaneously, it tends to feel like a combination of these two things. The blade being pulled out of her chest, leaving her to collect the blood in her hands, and it feels prickly and thick as it slides through her fingers. </p><p> </p><p>She wakes up on Carolyn's couch, at the prompt hour of <em>3:00 AM</em>, to a series of missed texts from Eve, and she feels all of these things. </p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>I'm officially free. Head over whenever</em></p><p> </p><p>Another one, sent thirty minutes after the first.</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Villanelle?</em></p><p> </p><p>The final, sent an hour after the second.</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>You fell asleep, didn't you asshole? I'll remember this next time you call me old.</em></p><p> </p><p>She texts Eve back, a desperate message that will go unread until the morning, she's sure:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I will never call you old again if you tell me you are still awake.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But when she doesn't get a response, she accepts defeat - the blade, and the blood, as she treks a lonely trail back to her empty hotel room. </p><p> </p><p>She curses herself for having a body that needs things like sleep, she curses the TV playing a romcom that is all-too-easy to ignore, she curses her eyes for flicking through the pages of the Bible in her hotel room for being too unfocused to retain anything. She curses time, though, more than anything. When time fills the crevices of her brain, there is no vacancy for distraction. So, she curses the weight of it.</p><p> </p><p>She curses the weight of two weeks being the extent of what she gets with Eve. When she thinks about it further, she wonders what extent of time with Eve would satisfy her. She is unable to come up with a conclusion; unable to fit something as nonsensical as time alongside something as equally as nonsensical as Eve. She figures there is not enough time in the world.</p><p> </p><p>But two weeks is what they have to work with, and it's at this moment she resolves herself to not letting any of that go to waste. She makes her decision - stares it into the cracks of the ceiling in her hotel room, says it like a silent prayer to nobody, in particular.</p><p> </p><p>Eve seems to make the same decision, when Villanelle's phone buzzes, with a text a few minutes later:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: I'm</span> sleeping now.. because I'm old. It's fine idiot, just come over tomorrow night.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>For once, they seem to agree. </p><p> </p><p>For once, Villanelle feels very grateful - for both the blood and the blade, even if it is Eve who holds the blade, and even if the blood comes from the sputtering muscle in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>With this acceptance, she experiences time the way as it was always meant to be. She loses it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The art of losing isn’t hard to master;</em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Eve seems to experience time in two ways, too.</p><p> </p><p>This is something Villanelle learns over their first few days of trying to figure out their new dynamic. </p><p> </p><p>Their day-to-day remains largely the same. Villanelle works on Carolyn's home, and Eve comes to spend time with her before her shifts, when she can. Villanelle busies herself while she waits for Eve to close the bar, and she goes to her apartment afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>She does not sit at the bar and chat with Elena while she waits these nights, because her and Eve agreed to keep things under wraps, for now. It does not hold the same secrecy that Anna's did, not in the least. Anna wanted Villanelle to stay a secret, hidden from the outside world, but Eve wants to maintain the secrecy of their world as to not let the delicacy of it be tainted by interruption. It is a decision they make together - not one she is forced into. But it is not an easy one to uphold, she can only dodge so many of Elena's texts with <em>I am working a lot</em>, and <em>I am sick again somehow and no you can not bring me soup, thank you</em>. She manages.</p><p> </p><p>They fit themselves into each other's schedules, and they reward each other for their patience - for hours waited to get off work, and for hours of lost-sleep that comes with maintaining their routine. That is what it is after all, a routine. It is a simple one, from an outside perspective, but brimming with complexities, from an inside perspective. That is where she is - very much inside of it. It is inside of it where she maintains a fixation on figuring out how Eve compartmentalizes her time; how Eve comes to handle the blade of it.</p><p> </p><p>The first way Eve seems to experience time is carefully. That is what she sees, more often than not, during their first few days of.. <em>being together</em>. Eve regards Villanelle with carefully curated touches, and cautious intimacy. She does not take Villanelle's hand in the street, when they walk to get coffee. She does not kiss Villanelle's cheek in the bakery when she buys her a croissant. She seems to touch Villanelle in ways that are calculated; when she understands why she is touching her, and what that touch will lead to. The touches are confident when she can understand the outcome, and they are hesitant when she can not - but, she tries. </p><p> </p><p>This does not bother Villanelle, but the confusion of it <em>does </em>seem to bother Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She realizes this one day, while they're sat on Carolyn's couch. Villanelle is scrolling on her laptop, looking through dish-ware for the kitchen, and Eve is laid on her back reading some book about female murderers. It isn't until an hour of silence passes that Villanelle realizes the cover of the book is different from the one Eve brought with her a few days ago. She didn't notice, initially, because her focus remained fixated on the way Eve's body has been scrunched on the couch - feet lingering close to Villanelle's thigh, but carefully retained in her own bubble.</p><p> </p><p>She stops scrolling on her laptop, in favor of raising an eyebrow in Eve's direction.</p><p> </p><p>Eve lowers her book below her eyes when she notices, "What?"</p><p> </p><p>"You seem to have a fascination for female murderers, hm?" Villanelle lets her eyes trail the cover of the book, "Should I be worried about spending the night at your apartment?"</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up." Eve laughs, quietly, "No. They just.. interest me, I guess. It's different from reading about male killers. What motivates women to kill, how they kill. It's.. <em>interesting</em>," she concludes with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrow stays raised, because the inflection of Eve's voice is dripping with something akin to <em>interest</em>. There is no missing that.</p><p> </p><p>"Is it a kink thing, Eve?" Villanelle asks, sultrily, and Eve's eyebrows shoot up, "Because if it is, I can help with that. I have tied many people up before."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Eve guffaws; her cheeks sprout a faint blush, "No. It's just interesting to read about, for fuck's sake."</p><p> </p><p>"So you do <em>not </em>want to be tied up?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's lips purse for a moment,  "I don't <em>not </em>want to be tied up."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs, and when Eve echos the sound, she lets her hand drop to the woman's ankle.</p><p> </p><p>She rubs circles into the bare skin of Eve's foot, and goes back to scrolling on her laptop. This last for a few moments, before she chances a glance back in the woman's direction once she notices Eve has forgone reading her book. She does so, seemingly, in favor of fixing Villanelle with a skeptical stare.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hesitates, "Working? Is that not obvious from four tabs of cutlery sets I currently have open on the screen?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve nods in the direction of Villanelle's hand on her foot. </p><p> </p><p>"I am.. touching you?" Villanelle provides the answer slowly, confusedly, "Is that not okay?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, <em>no</em>." Eve corrects, shaking her head, "I just didn't know if we were doing.. <em>that</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Doing what, Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>"Touching," Eve shrugs, and when Villanelle's eyebrows shoot to her hairline to bite in with a <em>I touched you for many hours last night</em>, Eve interjects before she can get the words out. "In ways that don't lead to.. <em>sex</em>, I mean."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites back a laugh, because it is absurd, "Why would you think that?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know. I didn't know if that was.. <em>allowed</em>, or whatever."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Allowed</em>?" Villanelle scoffs, "Are you reading some kind of handbook, Eve? A 10 step guide to navigating sex-flings, between your murder novels?"</p><p> </p><p>"No. Just.. <em>fuck it</em>." Eve lets her head fall back against the armrest, defeated. She notes this kind of defeat as one of confusion - Eve's inability to understand her role. "Forget I said anything."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets her hand still against Eve's skin, but she doesn't move it. "There are not rules for this king of thing. If you want to do something, you should just do it. You said you want me, no?"</p><p> </p><p>She throws Eve a cautious look. When Eve nods slowly, she continues.</p><p> </p><p>"You can want me in many ways, Eve. You can want to touch me in ways that don't involve putting your hand down my pants. It is not the end of the world."</p><p> </p><p><em>In fact, it is the beginning of a world,</em> is what Villanelle does not say. She swallows the words with a sigh. It feels elementary, hesitant - given the ways they have touched each other over the past few nights. But the hesitancy carries hope, because Eve is trying, and that is all she can ask for.</p><p> </p><p>She holds the shame of her intensities in her stomach, buries them, in favor of giving Eve reason when she adds, "You do not have to stew about these things, Eve. You can just.. <em>ask </em>me."</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods, slowly. Villanelle watches as she swallows her embarrassment before returning to her book.</p><p> </p><p>She continues to trace Eve's skin with the pad of her thumb, lets the silence fall between them for a few moments until she doesn't, "Plus, who says this is innocent? Maybe I am rubbing your foot because I am trying to seduce you."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stops reading. She marks her page, before throwing the book at Villanelle's shoulder. She doesn't move her foot from her lap, though. Small successes.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>The second way Eve seems to experience time is spontaneously. This is another thing she realizes in Carolyn's home, the next day. Carolyn's home has become more than just a home she is decorating, in that way - it has become a place of recognition. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle gets off the phone, after twenty minutes of arguing in French with a designer over the price of a Thomasville China Cabinet, before leaning against the countertop with a disgruntled sigh.</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks her up and down, sizing up a silent decision that Villanelle can only speculate about. She doesn't have to for long. The chair scrapes backwards, as Eve lunges out of it in favor of flinging herself into Villanelle's space. Her hands pull at her clothes with a fervent energy, and her mouth moves against Villanelle's neck is a way that does not consider caution or discretion. Villanelle returns Eve's kiss, as sloppy and as wet, as she receives them.</p><p> </p><p>"Does French do it for you, Eve?" She mutters against the woman's lips, pulling Eve's hips closer as two hands come to knot in her hair.</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't answer with words - no, she answers when her hand falls to the button of Villanelle's pants. She breaks from Eve's lips in favor of helping her with the act of shedding her clothes, but she pauses when her eyes take a moment to remind her of the fact that they are in Carolyn's kitchen. Eve pauses, too, to look at her confusedly.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle does not have sex in clients homes. She is <em>very </em>professional.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's fingers pop open the button of her jeans, and Villanelle's eyes flutter close.</p><p> </p><p>There is no battle to be won against the spontaneity of Eve's wants.</p><p> </p><p>They have sex, on Carolyn's dining table. She sanitizes it after Eve leaves. She figures she can afford to lose a bit of professionalism. She mentally demotes herself from <em>very </em>professional to <em>somewhat </em>professional.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>so many things seem filled with the intent</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>to be lost that their loss is no disaster.</em>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>They do share one perspective on time, though - any amount of it that stretches between them touching feels like nothing more than an intermission. That part of it does not take long to figure out. Not when she wakes up in Eve's bed, and lays her head to rest there at night. Not when her hotel room only becomes a place to return to gather fresh clothes, or a place to kill an hour of time until Eve closes the bar. They work, and they get off work, and they come together, to come undone. Rinse and repeat.</p><p> </p><p>It is a schedule that revolves primarily around sex, but Villanelle figures that it is the best way to make sense of something inconceivable. There is no language to explain what exactly is taking place between them. They try make up for the inexplicable, physically, where they lack the ability to do so, verbally. They try to make sense of it with pinning sex as a focal point to an incomprehensible schedule - one that their bodies seem powerless to disobey.</p><p> </p><p>It is not a hard schedule to adapt to. Humans are very adaptable, after all. Villanelle adapts to falling asleep with Eve's hair in her mouth, and Eve adapts to sharing her bed. They adapt to making the most out of a beautiful; illogical world that exists on a two-week timeline. They adapt to never bringing up the amount of time they have together. They adapt to loud sex, and the loudness of one another's longing, and they adapt to the quietness of <em>what if's</em> and <em>what happens after</em>. They adapt to not fighting each other, but fighting with time itself. A balancing act of not getting too attached to something that has an expiration date, whilst throwing themselves at one another completely before that expiration date falls upon them. </p><p> </p><p>They adapt in quiet unity, but Villanelle still counts the days in her head. <em>Three days to figure out their routine, eleven days left to enjoy i</em>t. She counts the number of times she's made Eve orgasm, counts the number of times her heart has threatened to bounce out of her chest, and counts the number of time she's found herself staring at Eve's face, trying to commit it to memory. </p><p> </p><p>She adapts to the feeling of <em>more than enough</em>, and she adapts to the feeling of <em>never enough</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Lose something every day. Accept the fluster</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.</em>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p>It is Saturday, <em>nine days left</em>, when Konstantin finally calls.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, it is Saturday when Konstantin calls and she <em>actually </em>answers it.</p><p> </p><p>In reality, he has called many times. She has ignored them many times. He has bombarded her with texts asking for updates, and she has responded with the bare minimum:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Everything is good 👍</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But she has nothing better to do, as she puts the finishing touches on Carolyn's kitchen, so she answers her phone to humor him.</p><p> </p><p>"Hello?" She sing-songs, clutching the phone between her shoulder and ear, while she puts Carolyn's dishware into the cabinets.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>!" He shouts, and she pauses to pull the phone away from her ear, "You have not answered my calls in over a week!"</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, but once she hears his breathing even out, she places the phone back against her ear, "Sorry, boss. I've been busy."</p><p> </p><p>"I swear to God, Villanelle, you better mean that you have been busy with the house or-"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm finishing up as we speak, Konstantin. Calm down. You will give yourself another heart attack."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh." His voice carries through still a little disgruntled, "So you will be finished by the deadline, then? This weekend?"</p><p> </p><p>"I always finish before my deadlines. You know this," She sighs, pausing to look around Carolyn's kitchen, "I will be finished by Wednesday, I think."</p><p> </p><p>It's true. It is another interesting facet of time. Villanelle works quickly when she is focused primarily on her work, with no outside distractions, but she seems to work even quicker when she is inspired. She has felt <em>very </em>inspired, as of late. She figures thats how the process of decorating Carolyn's home transitioned from a haphazard process of throwing things together, into a seamless completion of what could be considered her best work yet. Inspiration has a funny way of interacting with time - pulling it together to create something masterful.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh. This is good, very good. I would not know because you have not sent me any photos," He bites out, but his voice is quickly losing its annoyance, "Does this mean you will be coming back to London sooner than expected?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stills. She always tends to leave as soon as she completes her work. Whether that is back to Paris or London, <em>sometimes </em>New York. It depends whether she has another project awaiting her, or whether she has time to decompress before she decides which one to take.</p><p> </p><p>"I have not sent you pictures because I think this one should remain a surprise. I have really outdone myself this time," She laughs, quietly, "I will not be leaving until Saturday, though."</p><p> </p><p>"I thought that you hated Franklin?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is fine."</p><p> </p><p>A beat.</p><p> </p><p>"Does this have to do with this Eve woman?"</p><p> </p><p>Another beat.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>."</p><p> </p><p>She does not answer because it is useless to lie to Konstantin. He can smell bullshit, even over the phone. So, she will stay quiet.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle?" She hears the sound of him pulling his phone away from his ear, before it returns through the phone, "I can see that you're still on the line. Answer me."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." </p><p> </p><p>The silence comes from his end, this time.</p><p> </p><p>"Why have you not told me?"</p><p> </p><p>"I do not think telling you about my affairs are part of the job description."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm speaking as your friend, Villanelle. This seems.. <em>serious</em>. I want to know about your life. I want to be happy for you, but you never let me."</p><p> </p><p>"There is nothing to be happy about," she relays quietly.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p> </p><p>"No."</p><p> </p><p>"Will you tell me when you get back?"</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe."</p><p> </p><p>"Fine." He grunts, accepting whatever success he is currently being allowed. She can hear him scratching his beard through his phone when he says, "I patched things up with Carolyn."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows raise slightly, at this, "Oh, thank God. I don't think I could take much more of the sad puppy shit. It does not suit you."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Hey</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>"This means you may just see the house in the flesh some day. On one of your sexscapades, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>She pauses, "What changed your mind?"</p><p> </p><p>"It was you, <em>otrod'ye.</em> You mentioned all of those things about time, and it got me thinking. I told her that I would like to try," Konstantin is smiling, she can hear it, which means that things probably went over a lot smoother than he is letting on.</p><p> </p><p>"That worked?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. It seemed to work for Carolyn, too."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle briefly wonders if Konstantin is experiencing the world turning the same way that she is. She wonders if the sky is a little more blue in London, if the birds chirping is no longer annoying but sickeningly pleasant - she wonders if her and Eve are responsible for making the world turn after, all. Maybe, she is just self-obsessed.</p><p> </p><p>"I called for reasons outside of the house." Konstantin's voice drags her back to reality, "Are you still thinking about selling your apartment in New York?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stills. Her world turns, but the borders of that world begin and end in Franklin, Pennsylvania. She has not thought about places outside of it, for a very long time. She has not thought about her apartment collecting dust in New York, or her office that awaits her in London. </p><p> </p><p>"I do not know." She offers, truthfully, "Why?"</p><p> </p><p>"I have a friend who is looking to move into that neighborhood. He just got divorced so he is just looking for a one bedroom. I told him I might know a place." Konstantin pauses, "Are you reconsidering?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know," again, truthfully.</p><p> </p><p>"You seem to not know a lot today. It is unlike you. Why would you be reconsidering? You and Kenny solely work out of the London office, at this point. You are throwing money away." Konstantin pauses, and when Villanelle doesn't offer a response, he continues. "You were the one who talked my ear off for hours about not wanting to do anymore projects in the States after Carolyn."</p><p> </p><p>She does not reply.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle? Is your memory failing you? You would not shut up. All of that talk about <em>the States has not gotten with times in regards to design</em>, and <em>why would I want to work in New York when I can stay closer to Paris?" </em>His voice is heavy with confusion, so he pauses to ask, "Have you forgotten this?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>," she bites back, "Yes, I'm still thinking about selling it. Just.. not yet. I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay," he relents, slowly, "But I have to ask. Does this have to do with this Eve woman?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know, Konstantin," she half-shouts, this time.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Wow</em>."</p><p> </p><p>She exhales in into the phone - an attempt at steadying her breathing. She doesn't know why she suddenly feels angry. Perhaps, because she could not begin to explain to Konstantin the way her life has flipped upside down the last month. Perhaps, because even if she were to, he still would not be able to understand. Perhaps, because whatever happening between her and Eve is not understandable to anybody besides her and Eve. It is frustrating position to be in, when the rock is something inexplainable, and the hard place is something non-understandable.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I will tell him never mind then. But I expect to be filled in about any changes of heart you might have. I am speaking as your boss again, not your friend." He pauses, before adding, "You still get to choose your projects, but I need to know what areas my decorators are available to work in."</p><p> </p><p>She exhales, closing her eyes and breathing out, "Sure, boss."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay. Well, I guess I will be seeing you soon, then." His voice carries a cheerful lilt once again, "I am excited for this. Take care until then, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"Bye."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The art of losing isn’t hard to master.</em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>It's a Sunday morning, <em>eight days left</em>, when the serene secrecy of their world gets interrupted. </p><p> </p><p>They wake up tangled together for the fifth morning in a row, but the atmosphere lingers with a quiet difference. The sheets are discarded by their feet, a subconscious move made by their sweat-ridden bodies, and Villanelle wakes up first because the sounds of birds chirping is too incessant to ignore. Eve stirs a little after, reaching for the sheets to guard her eyes from the unrelenting sunlight beaming its rays on her face, but she gives up the fight when her hand never finds them. She cracks one eye open, then two.</p><p> </p><p>They blink at one another - the movement serves as a sign of acceptance that sleep is not something they will be dipping back into - before sitting up. Eve yawns, and Villanelle watches as a bumble bee lingers outside of the bedroom window. It registers then, why this morning feels different than the past few. It officially feels like spring. </p><p> </p><p>"Wow," Eve mutters, hoarsely, sleep still coating her throat, "It's warm."</p><p> </p><p>She looks down when a bead of sweat falls from her from her collarbone, trailing down the center of her chest, between her breasts. She moves to wipe it away, but Villanelle beats her.</p><p> </p><p>She leans forward, letting her tongue capture the drop of the liquid, before leaning up to kiss Eve's lips in one fell swoop.</p><p> </p><p>When she pulls back, Eve is regarding her with incredulous eyes - dark and wide - but a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips, when she asks, "Has anybody ever told you that you're sick?"</p><p> </p><p>"Once, or twice." Villanelle shrugs, smiling as she places another slow kiss at the corner of Eve's mouth, "Do not pretend you don't love it." </p><p> </p><p>Eve tries to pretend, but she falters. She settles for an eye roll before pulling Villanelle into her lap, nipping at her jugular, and Villanelle is surprised - <em>shocked, actually </em>- that she is the one to pull away from the movement, stopping something before it can start.</p><p> </p><p>Eve cocks an eyebrow, and it takes Villanelle's mind a second to catch up with her body.</p><p> </p><p>When it does, she loops her arms around Eve's shoulders, "It is nice out. We should enjoy it." </p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrow stays cocked.</p><p> </p><p>"You're telling me that you want to go outside and enjoy the weather, rather than stay inside and have sex?" Eve counters, slowly, bringing her hand up to feel Villanelle's forehead, "Are you feeling okay?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, smacking Eve's hand away, "There will be time for sex later, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't even have to hear herself speaking to understand how ludicrous the words sound falling out of her mouth. There is not much in the world she would rather do than have sex with Eve, at any given moment. But when the weather is nice, and it is coaxing them out with open arms, spending time with Eve in the sun sounds.. <em>equally </em>as nice. </p><p> </p><p>She crawls out of Eve's unmoving lap, throwing a glance over her shoulder, when she reaches to pick her shirt off of the bedroom floor, "Or, we can have sex outside. I am not so picky." </p><p> </p><p>Eve throws her head back in a laugh at that, kicking the sheets out of the way as she moves to stand up, "There you are. I was starting to get concerned." </p><p> </p><p>"No need, Eve. I am a simple girl. I like sex and sunshine." She pauses, pulling the shirt over her head, "And food. I am very hungry."</p><p> </p><p>Eve glances at the clock on the nightstand that reads <em>9:55 AM, </em>before shimmying into her sweatpants from the night before, "I have an idea."</p><p> </p><p>"Does that idea include food?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Eve rolls her eyes. "Elena doesn't come to open the bar for another hour. I'll make us breakfast, why don't you make us drinks from the bar? Mimosas, or something. We can eat on the roof." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses to consider this, crossing her arms, and leaning against Eve's doorframe, "You do not strike me as the brunch type, Eve. But I suppose I should not be surprised."</p><p> </p><p>"What? It's breakfast, it's not even ten - <em>What is that supposed to mean?</em>" </p><p> </p><p>"I have slept with many older women. They are always expressing the desire to get brunch in the morning." </p><p> </p><p>Eve pauses, shirt in hand, to raise her eyebrows at Villanelle. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you want food, or not?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>"Then get your ass down to the bar."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't move from the doorway. She allows herself a moment to take in the challenge of Eve's brows, the calculating intensify of her eyes, before muttering a very earnest, "God, you're sexy."</p><p> </p><p>The shirt in Eve's hand never makes it over her head. It doesn't have the chance to - not when she throws it at Villanelle's face. Villanelle relents, after that.</p><p> </p><p>She trots down the stairs - clad in nothing but a shirt, and her underwear - to fulfill Eve's request of <em>Mimosas</em>. She pauses, as she steps behind the well, realizing that she has never seen the the room from this side of the bar. She can't help but think about what is must be like to Eve, standing in this very position, night after night. She thinks about welcoming patrons in, pouring them beers with nothing more than a grunt, enrapturing their attention along the way. She is sure she is not the only victim who has stumbled into <em>Forbidden Fruit </em>looking for a quick drink, and left with lingering thoughts about the bartender. Eve just has that kind of effect, and she feels very lucky to be the one on the receiving end of it. </p><p> </p><p>She grabs some orange juice out of the fridge, and she bends down to sort through what Champange offerings she has to work with. Eve probably expects her to grab the cheapest one - whichever bottle the bar will not miss. But she will not do that, she decides, when she grabs a very expensive bottle of Dom Perignon. She will pay for it, of course, and in that way she is probably doing the bar a favor. She wonders how long that bottle has been sitting there - collecting dust - as the patrons of <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>order pint after pint of Bud Light. </p><p> </p><p>She's still crouched when she hears a key unlocking the front door. She weighs her options. She could army crawl through the door and back up the stairs, but there is a slim chance she would be able to manage that unseen. She is still crouched when she hears the front door open, and she does not move when she hears footsteps nearing the bar. She only begins to raise herself to a standing position when she realizes there is a slim chance it may not be Elena, but an intruder. The latter seems more desirable, actually.</p><p> </p><p>When she pops up from behind the bar, it is not an intruder, of course, but a very shocked Elena. An Elena who jumps, very comically, at the sudden sight of Villanelle emerging from behind the bar.</p><p> </p><p>"V?" Elena exclaims, her eyes wide as she takes in Villanelle with the sight of champagne in one hand and orange juice in the other, "<em>What are you-</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Elena's words catch in her throat as her eyes travel down to take in the sight of bare legs, one of which has a particularly tender bitemark bruised into it's thigh. Villanelle watches as Elena's expression transitions from one of genuine confusion, to absolute delight. Slow, and knowing, and entirely too pleased.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh.. you dirty <em>bitch</em>!" Elena squeals, her smile threatening to split her face in half, "I <em>knew </em>it!" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle bites her lip, drawing up her shoulders as she holds the champagne and orange juice as some sort of offering, "I am here to.. surprise you!"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Really</em>?" Elena scoffs, crossing her arms, as she draws closer to the bar, "Dressed like <em>that</em>? What are you here to surprise me with? <em>Sex</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's teeth sink into her lip a little harder. There is not much she wouldn't do to maintain the uninterrupted time she has been spending with Eve. She would do it, she decides.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes?" Villanelle tries.</p><p> </p><p>Her shoulders deflate at the sight of Elena rolling her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She sets down the champagne and orange juice on the bar, before leaning her palms on it, and raising an eyebrow at Elena. An eyebrow that says, <em>Let's get this over with, hm?</em></p><p> </p><p>"Nice try." Elena sets her purse on the bar stool, "You know, I would actually consider that. It's been way too fucking long, I'm starting to go crazy. But I don't sleep with people my friends are <em>fucking</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle groans, letting her head fall back, but this is <em>not</em>her fault. Eve is the one who sent her down here. Technically, it is Eve's fault. </p><p> </p><p>She tilts her chin down, "Yes. Eve and I are fucking."</p><p> </p><p>Finding her answer more than sufficient, she reaches to grab the champagne and juice from the bar top, but Elena beats her to it. She snatches the Dom Perignon up into her hand.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, no, you don't." Elena laughs, shaking her head, "How long? Since the ski resort? Before that? I knew that Eve has been in way too good of a mood these past few days. Not that I'm complaining, not in the least, but I knew something was up!" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pinches the bridge of her nose. This is too much talking to endure when she has yet to have coffee, or eaten anything, or put on pants, for that matter.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs, "Why don't you ask her yourself?"</p><p> </p><p>"That is a <em>great </em>idea," Elena asserts, holding her hand for Villanelle to lead the way, whilst gripping the champagne bottle in her other, "I'm bringing this."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle grunts, swiping the orange juice off the counter, before pushing past Elena. She treks a slow trail up the stairs - an air of defeat clinging to her heels. </p><p> </p><p>They're halfway up when Elena's voice rings out behind her, "<em>Wow</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle tosses an annoyed glance over her shoulder, only to be met with the sight of Elena staring directly at her hips. She cocks an eyebrow - unsurprised, and unbothered.</p><p> </p><p>"You are hot enough as is, V. You have no business having an ass like that." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle snorts, pushing the door open to the hallway, "Yes, enjoy it while you can. I have a feeling it will be.. getting <em>kicked</em>, shortly."</p><p> </p><p>Elena's voice rings through, a little cheeky, when she says, "I bet you wouldn't mind that though, huh?"</p><p> </p><p>"No." Villanelle replies, a whimsical cadence rounding out her tone, "No, I really wouldn't."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pushes Eve's door open, and the apartment smells of what she imagines a typical American Sunday morning to smell like - eggs, bacon, the scent of impending doom.</p><p> </p><p>"Eve?" Villanelle calls out, stepping into the apartment with Elena behind her, "Is the food done yet?"</p><p> </p><p>"No. Jesus, you've been gone like three minutes." Eve shouts, over the sound of bacon sizzling, "You could learn a thing or two about patience."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, bites down a <em>You had no issue with impatience last night</em>, in favor of offering a somewhat meek, "You might want to make enough for three. I have a feeling she will not be leaving."</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence. Nothing more than the sound of the oil cracking in the frying pan.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>It's at this point that Elena pushes past her, making a speedy beeline down the hallway until she is stood in the kitchen doorway - champagne in hand, and wearing a smirk that is as victorious as it is wide. Villanelle crosses her arms, trudging a slow trail behind her, until she comes to stand behind her. She catches Eve's eyes over Elena's shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is stood in front of the frying pan - spatula loosely held in one hand, and mouth slightly parted - as her wide eyes float between them.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle!" She hisses, ignoring Elena completely, to say, "Put some pants on!"</p><p> </p><p>"Seriously, Eve?" Villanelle scrunches her brow, sharing a glance of incredulity with Elena, "I think she knows."</p><p> </p><p>"Obviously!" Eve rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Put some pants on anyways. I'm not having this conversation on an empty stomach, and I assume you're staying."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Yep</em>," Elena releases the p, with a pop.</p><p> </p><p>"Figured. Are you hungry?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Starving</em>," Elena replies, her smirk only growing, as the sound of bacon frying in the pan becomes a little louder.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes travel to the bottle in her hands at that point, "Is that fucking <em>Dom Perignon</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"I will pay for it," Villanelle calls out, trekking to the bedroom, to put on her conversation pants.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>There is not a moment of calm before the storm; not a moment of silence because that is not something that exists with Elena. They barely get their plates on the table; barely get a chance to soak up the feeling of sun on their shoulders, before Elena pops open the champagne. The <em>pop </em>serves as an opening of the floodgates.</p><p> </p><p>Elena opens her mouth, and it doesn't close for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>"So?" Elena asks, waggling her brows as she pours champagne into their glasses that are already half-full with orange juice, "When did it start?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, grunting as she tears off a bite of bacon with her teeth, "Six nights ago."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow. <em>Maybe Eve is counting down the days, after all.</em></p><p> </p><p>"Six nights ago?" Elena echoes, her brows drawing together, "Is that the night you were here with-"</p><p> </p><p>Eve cuts her off with a sharp, "<em>Yes</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Elena's eyes widen, as they turn to meet to Villanelle's, "But you left that night." </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs, swallowing a bite of bacon, and washing it down with a sip of coffee, "I came back." </p><p> </p><p>"I knew it."</p><p> </p><p>"That we're fucking?" Eve snorts, "<em>Yeah</em>, you've made that clear."</p><p> </p><p>"No, silly," Elena's eyes go a little too dreamy for Villanelle's liking when she says, "That it's fate!"</p><p> </p><p>Eve chokes on her Mimosa, and Villanelle winces at the noise. Their shoulders seem to recoil at just about the same time, and Elena is left only to watch the whole thing with disbelieving eyes.</p><p> </p><p>The silence that happens afterwards is one that forces Villanelle into the presence of the moment. The sun beating a little too warmly on her shoulders, the sound of birds chirping, the sound of kids playing somewhere far in the distance, Elena and Eve sat in front of her over a spread of bacon and eggs and Mimosas. It feels a little too picturesque. It feels a little too dangerous - an image of what her life could be if she allowed that closeness; that.. normalcy.</p><p> </p><p>But, it is not a picture of normalcy - it is a product of time, a situation she has found herself in for a blip of time. It doesn't go further than that. She swallows Elena's words very thickly. </p><p> </p><p>Elena entertains the silence, until she can't take it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>"I wonder what coffee and champagne would taste like together?" Elena offers, her words confident with talkative energy, but a subtle nervousness rounding them out, "Wanna try Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>A shakey laugh from Eve's lips, but she holds out her coffee cup, and Villanelle is suddenly grateful for the incessant chatter that exists within Elena. She's a conversationalist - maybe, an overstepper - but she knows how to dismiss awkwardness with comfort; knows how to rectify when she oversteps. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve takes a sip of her coffee-champagne only to spit it out, and the two of them fall into a chorus of easy laughter, Villanelle decides it is a good quality. Even when Elena throws her an annoying wink from over the table.</p><p> </p><p>The air feels light, once again - easy, with the air of Spring - and Elena's line of questions fall back into something easily answerable, "So, how's the sex?" </p><p> </p><p>"Good." Eve answers, and Villanelle raises an eyebrow, so she answers again, "<em>Great</em>."</p><p> </p><p>When Elena looks to Villanelle for an answer, she draws her shoulders up in a nonchalant shrug, "Nothing to complain about." </p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws at that, before throwing a piece of bacon at Villanelle's face. She picks it up from her lap and takes a bite out of it, "It is very good, Elena, thank you for asking."</p><p> </p><p>They eat in quiet for a little bit, nothing but mentions from Elena of <em>God, what do I have to do to get laid in this God-forsaken town?</em> and <em>This champagne is way better than the Trader Joe's shit</em>, before the conversation derails back into something regarding normalcy. She had expected Elena to beat the horse until it was dead,  but it's clear the woman had simply confirmed what she had already expected. </p><p> </p><p>"Why did you get here so early?" Eve asks Elena, reaching for Villanelle's champagne-free coffee and taking a sip, "You don't have to open the bar until noon."</p><p> </p><p>"Hugo and I come in a little early on Sundays to have a Bloody Mary before our shift," Elena shrugs, and Eve's eyes look lost somewhere between <em>reprimanding</em>and <em>not caring</em>, "What do you expect, Eve? It's the only way I can get through Sunday clientele. Men coming in with their sports jerseys to talk about.. <em>sports</em>. It's disgusting."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs lowly, at this, "Where's Hugo then?" </p><p> </p><p>"Late, as usual."</p><p> </p><p>In timing that feels a little too comical, Hugo comes bursting through the patio door - shirt wrinkled, and carrying a Bloody Mary in his hand, but his stride slows when he becomes conscious of the full table before him.</p><p> </p><p>"Eve, Villanelle," he nods slowly, confusedly, before looking to Elena, "You could give a man a warning, next time."</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't have much of a warning myself, Hugo." </p><p> </p><p>Hugo looks between the three of them slowly, before a shit-eating grin spreads across his features, "I knew it!"</p><p> </p><p>Eve throws her hands up at this, "Seriously? Do you two have nothing better to do than speculate about my sex life?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not really," Elena supplies, with a shrug, "We're in Franklin."</p><p> </p><p>"Your turtleneck slipped a bit at work the other night," Hugo offers, sitting down next to Elena whilst taking a sip of his drink, "I saw the hickey. I didn't give it to you, so I figured there could only be one other culprit."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle makes a gagging noise. She does not need to be reminded of that.</p><p> </p><p>Hugo raises his eyebrows, as he releases the straw from his lips, "Oh, did you know not know? That Eve and I.. bumped uglies?"</p><p> </p><p>Elena hits his shoulder, and Eve scoffs, "God, Hugo. Yes, she <em>knows</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, as she takes a sip of her mimosa, and Hugo chimes in again, "Are you worried then, Villanelle? That I might give you a run for your money?"</p><p> </p><p>A beat of shocked silence.</p><p> </p><p>An eruption of laughter from all three of them, this time.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Ha</em>! Ha ha!" Villanelle laughs, loudly - she can not help it, "Are you serious? I need to know if you are being serious, because I do not know whether to take pity on you or not."</p><p> </p><p>Hugo slouches a bit in his seat.</p><p> </p><p>Elena can barely bite out the words through the howl erupting from her chest, "You're fucking kidding, Hugo. <em>You</em>? Give <em>her </em>a run for her money? The young, hot, blonde <em>Russian</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Hugo slouches further.</p><p> </p><p>Eve shakes her head, biting her lip to suppress the still-lingering laughter, "Hugo, I'm sorry to say.." She interrupts herself, to correct herself, "Actually, I'm really not. There is <em>no </em>comparison."</p><p> </p><p>Hugo says nothing. He just sulks, silently sucking tomato juice through a straw, as the sound of laughter lingers on around him. </p><p> </p><p>Something about the image strikes a chord in Villanelle. She thinks about the first time she walked into <em>Forbidden Fruit </em>- when Hugo, Elena, and Eve remained nameless faces until they didn't. She thinks about how she watched their interactions - nothing but an observer, looking through the glass, and recounting the bizarreness of their dynamic. She thinks about how she does the same now - still an observer, still feeling bizarre, but weirdly placed - fit into a space she did not know was carved out. Fit into a space where she was never meant to exist; can only exist for a short amount of time. It dazes her, and she falls into a rare silence, as she watches the three of them.</p><p> </p><p>They chatter, and laugh, and make fun of each other, and Villanelle watches quietly. She chimes in with the occasional quip, but she resigns herself to silence, otherwise. It is how a breakfast that started as an interrogation, ends as nothing more than four people sharing each other's company. She shares in it, and it feels like dipping her hand into somebody else's honey jar. Her daze clears when Hugo and Elena leave to do their jobs.</p><p> </p><p>This leaves her and Eve - alone with the sun, some untouched bacon, and a half-drank bottle of <em>Dom Perignon</em>. Villanelle doesn't know if it's the subtle buzz of champagne in her stomach, or a lingering sense of unplaced domesticity that leads to her to get up from where she's sitting. She grabs the champagne, before plopping down into Eve's lap, and sipping from the bottle.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's body sits surprised for a moment, before she lets a lazy arm come to loop around Villanelle's waist, and places a small kiss to the woman's sun-kissed shoulder, "What should we do with the rest of the day?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle hums, passing the bottle to Eve, before resting her chin on her head, "I do not care, Eve. The world is our pearl."</p><p> </p><p>"Oyster," Eve corrects with a laugh, before taking a sip. </p><p> </p><p>"Whatever," Villanelle rolls her eyes, "We can do whatever we want."</p><p> </p><p>"Does that mean we're going inside?" Eve asks, with a quirked brow. </p><p> </p><p>"Not yet. Let's enjoy the afternoon. It is nice out." </p><p> </p><p>"So, hanging out?" Eve asks, slowly, as if that's not something they do all the time between sex, "That's what you're asking me to do?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure." Villanelle shrugs, pulling her chin away from Eve's head in favor of looping an arm around her shoulders, "That is one way to put it."</p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs, "How else would you put it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Edging," Villanelle relays, "I think that is what they call it in your language."</p><p> </p><p>Eve nearly drops the bottle of champagne, but Villanelle steadies it with her hand. </p><p> </p><p>"Eve," Villanelle tuts, "That is expensive."</p><p> </p><p>"What exactly does <em>edging </em>entail?" </p><p> </p><p>"Shopping, maybe? That is what people on Sundays in small towns, no? Window shop?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, before bringing the bottle back to her mouth, and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, "What do they call blue balls in your language?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Golubyye shary</em>," Villanelle whispers into Eve's ear, and relishes in the way it travels down the woman's spine. Eve leans into kiss her, and Villanelle hops out of her lap before their lips can make contact. </p><p> </p><p>"Seriously?" Eve manages to land a slap on her ass, before getting up to follow behind, following suit with grumbles of <em>I'm too old for this shit, </em>and <em>you're very annoying, do you know that?</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle notices the clock as they head into Eve's apartment to change. <em>12:20 P.M</em>. The morning has slipped into afternoon, and just like that, Villanelle loses a little bit more time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Then practice losing farther, losing faster:</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>places, and names, and where it was you meant</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>to travel. None of these will bring disaster.</em>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p>They trek along the downtown streets of Franklin, champange-fuled, stopping to look into the windows of second-hand stores and boutiques with a half-hearted energy. Their energy lingers elsewhere, between them in fits of laughter and easy conversation, and Villanelle figures this is the time-lapse part in the rom-com where everything comes together. Or, the part in the Bible when the sun shines again. It does not feel like either of these things. </p><p> </p><p>When Eve leans into her as they walk along the sidewalk together, it should serve as a revelatory moment. An acceptance of the present. But it can not when time hangs tainted between them - merciless, and conclusive. The weight of Eve's body against hers feels heavier than before. She carries the weight, as gracefully as she can. Like a rock sat atop a bed of moss.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle makes them stop in a boutique when she notices a French porcelain vase displayed in one of the windows, one that she can imagine very easily on Carolyn's kitchen counter, and she drags Eve inside along with her to purchase it. She is surprised when the boutique-owner is French, so they converse for a bit, before exiting back into the sunlight and continuing their stroll - vase in tow. </p><p> </p><p>"I am sorry if I flustered you with my French-speaking, Eve." Villanelle smirks at her, swinging the bag as she walks, "I did not expect to do such a thing in Franklin. Please let me know if you feel like jumping my bones at any moment."</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up, asshole," Eve rolls her eyes, shoving Villanelle's shoulder with her own, "Not even you are hot enough for me to want to get hit with a public indecency charge."</p><p> </p><p>"You sure about that?"</p><p> </p><p>"No."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs. </p><p> </p><p>"Why don't you ever speak in Russian?"</p><p> </p><p>Her laugh dies in her throat. The question surprises her. It really shouldn't, but Eve's questions have remained absent for a few days. Perhaps, because her mouth has been otherwise occupied. It should not surprise her, knowing no matter what Eve's mouth is doing, there is always a question waiting to come through from the other side. It takes her a moment to recover.</p><p> </p><p>"Probably for the same reason you do not speak Korean," Villanelle shrugs, "There is no need for me to speak it."</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, <em>touche</em>," Eve nods, slowly, "But isn't Konstantin Russian? I've heard you speak at least three languages over the phone by now, but I've never heard you speak Russian."</p><p> </p><p><em>Touche</em>, Villanelle thinks. </p><p> </p><p>"Are you keeping tabs, Eve?" is what she says.</p><p> </p><p>"No." Eve laughs, quietly; confusedly, "I'm just curious."</p><p> </p><p>A beat of quiet passes between them.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't care for the language."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows knit together, "It's your first language though, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. But it is a shit one."</p><p> </p><p>Eve raises an eyebrow, and Villanelle relents.</p><p> </p><p>Not because she feels pressured to, but because the more she talks with Eve about these things, the easier it gets. Cyclical things are not always bad, she is realizing. The more she offers her vulnerabilities to Eve, and the world does not seem to end, the more willing she feels to do it. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Not </em>speaking it.. allows me a sense of control." Villanelle pauses, to consider, as she has not had to explain this to anybody outside of Konstantin, "I have no option to carry the scars that I garnered in Russia, but I have a choice in how I am reminded of them." She bites her lip, "Mm, I do not have to carry the scar of language that hurt me if I do not speak it. Does that make sense?"</p><p> </p><p>Her champagne-soaked tongue lacks eloquence, but Eve seems to understand what she's saying easily enough. She nods, before grabbing Villanelle's hand and interlacing their fingers, "Yeah, that makes sense."</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't ask about that further. She just holds her hand, and it feels very simple.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls her into another boutique after Eve mentions something about liking the coat in the window. It catches Villanelle's eye because it is a nice coat - a big step from the shit blue rain-coat she seems endlessly attached to. She makes Eve tries it on, and when the fabric clings to the woman's curves, Villanelle begs her to let her buy it for her. Eve refuses, when she sees the price tag, and refuses again when Villanelle tells her it doesn't matter.</p><p> </p><p>They leave the boutique, Eve coat-less and Villanelle pouty, and she figures its fine that they are annoyed at each other. It is better than going back in and buying the coat, anyways. She is finding that she respects Eve a little too much to go against her wishes.</p><p> </p><p>"So," Eve bites her lip, "What should we do now?"</p><p> </p><p>"I do not know, Eve. Like you said, the world is our oyster."</p><p> </p><p>"Should we go back to my apartment?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle smiles, and Eve tugs on her hand, "I think so."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't mention that it wasn't a slip of language when she said that the world is their pearl, earlier. She never understood the weird English saying to begin with. The oyster is nothing more than a container. The pearl is the real treasure, beautiful and contained. She thinks her and Eve have pried open the oyster with their hands, cut their fingertips on the way, and it is only right they get to enjoy the beautiful, contained world they exist within, currently.</p><p> </p><p>When Eve takes Villanelle's arm, and her thumb rubs circles into the skin next to her elbow, it feels much more precious that than the shell of a touch - it feels like the inside of it. It is something she will get to feel between her fingers for a short amount of time, before she gives it back. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>next-to-last, of three loved houses went.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <hr/>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><p>It is a Wednesday, <em>three days left</em>, when she finishes decorating Carolyns' home. She sits in it for a long time. It seems like something that should be concluded with something extravagant - fireworks booming in the sky behind her, or a champagne bottle being siphoned, but it concludes with an empty quietness. Simple and straight-forward. The furniture mocks her, the china cabinet says, <em>You have no reason to stay here anymore</em>, and the Grandfather clock ticks in a way that seems louder than usual. She sits in it for a long time, before she heads to Eve's. The walk is blurry.</p><p> </p><p>The days are starting to blur together. Villanelle tries to remain hyperaware of the moments as they pass - but it is no use. When they are together, Villanelle is barely able to keep up with where her body begins and where Eve's ends. When they tie themselves into a beautiful knot every night, she loses the ability to keep track of when it her own voice crying out, or if it is Eve's. They are trying to drive a wedge into time - and even then, it moves past them without a care in the world.</p><p> </p><p>It is like trying to watch a pain pass by at alarming speed - you can not stop it, you can only watch it so long as it is in view, you are forced to take one of two positions: observe it, from a safe distance, or throw yourself in front of it. </p><p> </p><p>It is still Wednesday, <em>three days left</em>, when she gets a text from Elena. Her and Eve are drinking tea on the couch, sex a temporarily-forgotten activity due to their sore bodies, when her phone buzzes. Another nature documentary is playing in the background: this one about Seahorses.</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>what are we doing on Friday?</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, shoots off a silent reply:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Since when are we doing something Friday?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>for Eve's bday!!</em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth parts a little at that, before turning to Eve, phone held lazily in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>She frowns, "You were not going to tell me it was your birthday on Friday?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyebrows knit together, checking her own phone, and they unknit when she looks at the date, "Shit. I guess it is. I seriously forgot."</p><p> </p><p>"You <em>forgot</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"I've been a little preoccupied," Eve rolls her eyes, "Wait, how did you know?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes fall on Villanelle's phone, and she deflates against the couch cushion before muttering, "God, what is she planning?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sets her phone down on the table, along with her mug of tea, before nudging Eve's thigh with her toes, "This is a big deal, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"It really isn't," Eve grumbles.</p><p> </p><p>"It really is." Villanelle scoffs, "You are turning <em>forty</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>"That is <em>exactly </em>why it isn't." Eve pinches the bridge of her nose, before looking to Villanelle, "You can't understand this yet, but when you get older, birthdays just start to blend together. Why should forty hold any significance? Another year closer to death. Big <em>whoop</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, "Yes, yes, quit with your <em>Life is shit and then you die </em>spiel and tell me what you want to do."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't tell Eve that she does not have to age to understand just how insidious time is. It is evident, in everything. Time is what rots children into wrinkly adults. Time is how people are conceived, and time is what lays them to rest, later on. Time is what lets love blossom, and it is what breaks people's hearts. Time is what turns love to hate. Time is what keeps Eve and Villanelle together right now, and it is what will separate them later.</p><p> </p><p>"Wait, <em>Friday</em>. That's the day before you leave," Eve offers, a little quietly, seemingly speaking the words to herself as if it will allow her to register them.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. More importantly, it is <em>your </em>birthday."</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes, and Eve's brow scrunches together. Villanelle hopes it is because she is thinking about what she wants to do for her birthday, but when Eve's words come out bitten rather than spoken, she realizes it is not.</p><p> </p><p>"I really don't give a shit," Eve relays, coldly, "I'm sure you and Elena will come up with something grandiose and soul-sucking regardless of what I want."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, the coldness of Eve's tone impossible to ignore, "That is why I am <em>asking</em> what you want, Eve." She pauses, before adding, "Why are you being a bitch?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm <em>not</em>!" Eve barks back, <em>bitchily</em>, "I just don't care about this shit, Villanelle!"</p><p> </p><p>They fight. Villanelle assumes it only makes sense, after eleven days without. She suspected it would happen, at some point. It is why she did not check out of her hotel - that, and she wasn't sure when her body would need space from the overwhelming world of Eve. But, the fight comes and it feels like a stake - large and intrusion, and consuming yet another piece of their precious time together.</p><p> </p><p>"That is fine, you do not have to!" Villanelle yells back, her hands flying around her as she does, "But you do not have to be so.. <em>grumpy </em>about it! God forbid your friends want to do something nice for you!"</p><p> </p><p>Eve cackles, "Oh, that's rich. Is that what you are? My friend who wants to do something nice for me?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle winces at that, but she swallows the pain in her throat, and she allows her words to fall from her lips with a cadence of anger, rather than pain, "What am I then, Eve? If not your <em>friend</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve's shoulders shake, and she throws the blanket off her lap in favor of jumping into a standing position, "I am not doing this right now."</p><p> </p><p>"No." Villanelle challenges further, standing up and speaking words to Eve's back, "What am I to you, Eve? If you do not consider me your friend, then what do you consider me?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve hands reach up to knot in her hair, and when she turns around, her eyes are alight with a vindictive fire, "<em>Leaving</em>! That's what you're about to do, isn't it?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has never felt her fight leave her so fast. Eve's doesn't - it is clear from the flames threatening to spill from her eyes, but they do not serve to light Villanelle's match. How could they, when the realization sobers her - douses her with water? Eve is not being a bitch over something as ludicrous as birthday parties, she is being ludicrous over something she'd never say out loud: She is losing the fight with time. It is something Villanelle can understand. In this way, she is probably the only person she can understand.</p><p> </p><p>"That is what I am to you? <em>Leaving</em>?" Villanelle snorts, quietly, pain visible where anger no longer is, "A blip in time? What do you think happens after I leave here?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't <em>know</em>!" </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I can see that. I assume thats why you're being such a.. <em>curmudgeon</em>," Her accent curls around the word strangely, and her heart sinks even more strangely,  "I don't know either."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares. Villanelle's voice quiets. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't have an answer for you, if that is what you want." Villanelle shrugs, her voice an even tone, "I do not know what happens after this, but I do know that it is not happening yet. But if I had to guess, I would guess that there will be time to be angry later."</p><p> </p><p>Eve deflates a bit, but the tenseness doesn't ease from around her mouth. They stand, staring at each other, with crossed arms. It doesn't carry the same intense energy it usually does - it feels worn out; <em>worried</em>. Villanelle continues, speaking into the few feet of space between them,</p><p> </p><p>"It doesn't matter what I am to you. You can figure that out later. Right now, I am a person who is just trying to make sure your birthday isn't <em>shit</em>," Villanelle shakes her head, "Which leaves you with two options. You can keep being a drama queen, or you can sit down and tell me what you want to do. I would recommend the latter, unless you want Elena to have free reign."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's shoulders heave with a sigh, but her body language doesn't indicate surrender. <em>Pulling teeth</em>, Villanelle thinks, <em>pulling a rope </em>- she'll be left with bloody hands and a bloody mouth, when all is said and done. She cocks an eyebrow, and Eve uncrosses her arms.</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry," she sighs, running her hands over her face, "This is just.. <em>a lot</em>. I'm turning forty, and I expected my life to look a little different." </p><p> </p><p><em>I didn't expect any of this</em>, is what Eve doesn't say but Villanelle hears anyways.</p><p> </p><p>"Forty is not a death sentence, Eve." Villanelle coos, all too gently for her liking.</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs at that, cold and tense, and Villanelle doesn't take it, personally.</p><p> </p><p>It is the sound that comes out when somebody is forced to face the hand of time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The art of losing isn’t hard to master.</em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>It is Eve's birthday, <em>one day left</em>, when they are forced to watch the last granules of sand hitting the bottom of the hour glass. What's worse is that they are forced to smile through it. What's worse is that Villanelle <em>wants </em>to smile through it. She is happy to be with Eve on her fortieth birthday, even if time is pulling at her body like a siren coaxing her to crash her ship. If she has to steer that ship with a smile, even if she is heading for a rocky shore with no safe landing in sight, so be it. </p><p> </p><p>She wakes up on the morning of Eve's birthday, alone in her hotel room. Eve had mentioned something about wanting to spend her birthday eve alone, and Villanelle didn't understand at first because <em>who wants to be alone on their birthday? </em>But after Eve mentioned something about how she used to spend her birthday eves with Bill, she easily understood. Villanelle thinks it's funny how we carve out space for people, long after they're gone. There is probably not another choice. Humans depend on some sort of ritual to keep them sane, and she is not above this. She still spends her dad's birthday alone every year, so she does not question Eve's decision further. She leaves her that night with a kiss on the cheek, and a <em>See you tomorrow</em>.</p><p> </p><p>So, when she wakes up in the morning, bright and early, she feels refreshed. It is probably because her body actually was allowed some rest rather than constant stimulation, and it is thanking her.</p><p> </p><p> She shoots Eve a simple text. One that reads:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Happy birthday, Eve 💋 🎊 🎂 🤪 XOXO </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She knows that Eve won't respond for a few hours, because she will sleep in, like she always does on her days off. So with this, she grabs a coffee from the hotel lobby and heads for downtown Franklin. She feels hyperaware of every movement that she makes - every step her foot takes on Franklin's lopsided sidewalk, and every time she cranes her neck to hear the river lapping at the damn.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about the quietness of Franklin in the morning - how it chilled her to her core the first day she arrived in the town, and how now it feels like nothing more than a peace that instills itself into the length of her spine. She feels hyperaware of the fact that this will probably be the last morning that she will experience Franklin like this. Today, she will check out of her hotel. Tonight, she will spend Eve's birthday with her and Elena and Hugo. Tomorrow, Eve will drive her to the airport in the evening, and she will leave. It should be an easy thing to understand, but her body refuses to let her process it as fact.</p><p> </p><p>As she walks to the boutique to buy Eve's birthday present, her body tries to convince her that it is just another day - that she will wake up tomorrow, and continue decorating Carolyn's home, and spend the night at Eve's apartment. But she will do no such thing. Tomorrow, she will get on a plane, and she won't rest her head on a pillow until she is back in London. But that is tomorrow, and today is today, so she tries to remain present. </p><p> </p><p>When she gets to the boutique, she is pleased to find the light gray Peacoat Eve tried on still in stock, but dismayed to find the French woman she spoke to last time is not working. She makes small talk with an American woman with a shrill Southwest accent, and it pierces her ears under the fluorescent lights of the shop. Everything unfamiliar, and suddenly grotesque. She purchases the coat, and leaves.</p><p> </p><p>She stops by the hardware store on the way back to her hotel - the same one she had visited to pick out paint on her first day there, and she feels like she's being pranked when a different man is working the register. She purchases a bundle of rope - a gag gift, one that she fully intends to use, to lighten the reprimanding she will get from Eve over buying her a $500 coat. She makes small talk with yet another stranger, and her stomach feels nauseous. Everything is changing, all of the time, and you can not expect to find the smallest semblance of familiarity in the places you most expect it. She purchases the rope, and leaves. </p><p> </p><p>When she gets back to her hotel, she packs her things very slowly. Three suitcases take two hours, and after she's done, she sits in the hotel room and lets the emptiness of it seep into her pores. It used to haunt her - the sofa chairs that nobody ever sat in, the flickering lamp on the nightstand, the dust collecting in the corners. Now, she recounts it as something she took for granted - a never-changing scenery where she spent much of her time.. well, <em>changing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about the first night she met Eve; how she collapsed on the hotel bed, seething and confused. Sure, the bed never contorted to fit the shape of her body, but at least it held her weight. She thinks very fondly of the metal springs and discomfort, now. She thinks about all of the times she tried to make sense of Eve, in this hotel room - with neglected rom-coms and readings of scripture. She wishes she could tell Eve about this, but she can't - what she can do is give her something as a piece of evidence. Words not spoken, but encapsulated in a small gift. She pulls the Bible out of the drawer of the night, finds a specific passage, and rips it out. When she finally checks out of her hotel room, she does so with the same woman who checked in her (<em>Thank God</em>), and then she leaves. </p><p> </p><p>When she arrives at the bar in an Uber, feeling out of body and far away, Elena is waiting outside. She helps Villanelle pull her luggage out of the trunk of the car, and they carry it inside wordlessly.</p><p> </p><p>When they set it down, a clunk against the wooden floor, Villanelle takes her time as she looks around the bar. It is littered with dollar-store decorations - a plastic string of words hang over the bar-top that spell out <em>Happy Birthday, Eve!, </em>and there are balloons covering the expanse of the ceiling. The sun shines in through window, with a mid-afternoon solemnity, and it reflects off the confetti on the floor. Villanelle's stomach feels heavy with silence, one that she doesn't have the courage to break, so she is grateful when Elena does.</p><p> </p><p>"The air feels kind of heavy today, huh?" She props her hands on her hips, looking over Villanelle.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle relays truthfully, blowing some air out of her cheeks, "It is Eve's birthday, after all. I guess that it is only natural."</p><p> </p><p>Elena cackles at that, "You're telling me. She hasn't even emerged from her cave yet, and it's almost three." She sighs, before adding, "Hugo will be here in an hour. Do you want to walk with me to the bakery to pick up the cake?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods. They push her suitcases behind the bar top, and Elena locks up the bar, before they set off down the street. It starts off as a quiet walk - an unusual atmosphere between the two of them - not unwelcome, but Villanelle is desperate to distract herself from the way her heart threatens to sink into her stomach. That is probably why she is the first one to open her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"So, we will get dinner and then head back to the bar?" Villanelle relays it with a lackluster cadence, because it is lackluster, but she knows it's only fitting for Eve, "She is not bothered that the bar is closed today?"</p><p> </p><p>"Nope." Elena replies, digging her hands into the pockets of her blazer, "She doesn't care about much on her birthday. She's kind of a grump about it."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Why</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>"Because it's Eve?" Elena laughs, and Villanelle does, too, "I don't know. She puts a lot of pressure on herself. I think her birthday serves more as a reminder of her failures, than her successes."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Villanelle chews on this, because she can relate to it. She loves her birthdays, because she likes an excuse to celebrate anything, but she understands what Eve feels. "She is weird."</p><p> </p><p>"So are you." Elena scoffs, "Two weird hotties. A match made in Heaven."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, "I am literally leaving tomorrow." </p><p> </p><p>"Ugh, don't remind me." Elena looks genuinely upset, and Villanelle raises an eyebrow at that, "<em>What</em>? You think Eve is the only one who's sad? I dare say even Hugo is a bit upset."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't say anything. A small, confused frown tugs at her lips.</p><p> </p><p>Elena notices, and she shakes her head before saying, "You're a good one, V. Good for Eve, sure. More than good, actually. You're perfect for Eve. She needs a push, sometimes, and you know just how to do that - even if I get a bit scared that it might end in bloodshed sometimes." Villanelle snorts, and Elena continues, "But you're just.. <em>good</em>, in general. A real one, you know? I'll miss you."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows raise at this, and her jacks goes a little slack - with surprise, rather than sentimentality, "I do not think anybody has ever described me as.. <em>good</em>, before."</p><p> </p><p>"People love to see the worst in things." Elena shrugs, as they turn a corner until they are outside the bakery, "Makes them feel better about themselves, you know?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle comes to a standing position. She does not know how to tell Elena that she is that very person - the one who loves to see the worst in hopes of creating good in the shadows of her character. If Elena notices the way Villanelle loses a bit of her resolve, she doesn't say anything about that. She just opens for the door for Villanelle to walk into the bakery, and she does. They carry on.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.</em>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p>Eve emerges from upstairs a little after five. Her, Elena, and Hugo are sat at the bar wearing ridiculous cone hats and drinking white wine when it happens. She had suggested a few times that she go upstairs and drag Eve out, but Hugo and Elena denied her each time. Mentions of <em>Let her come in her own time</em>, and <em>You really don't want to do that</em>, and she doesn't know why she continues to listen - even after they miss their dinner reservation. She figures that she listens because these are the people who have known Eve for years, while she has only known Eve for a month.</p><p> </p><p>It is a sobering truth, and one she doesn't allow herself much time to stew. If Eve is resigned to feeling miserable on her birthday, then she will be happy enough for the both of them.</p><p> </p><p>When Eve <em>finally </em>trudges a slow trail down the stairs into the bar, dressed in her usual turtleneck and trousers, they all pop their confetti cannons at the same time. </p><p> </p><p>"Happy birthday, Eve!" They all bellow, and Villanelle takes pride in the fact that her voice carries louder than Hugo and Elena's combined.</p><p> </p><p>Eve winces at the sound, with a roll of her eyes, but Villanelle doesn't miss the earnest truth of her smile as it stretches widely across her face.</p><p> </p><p>"God, you guys look.. <em>stupid," </em>she laughs, and the sound of it lightens the weight in Villanelle's chest. Elena descends upon her first, Hugo following shortly after, and they wrap her in a bear hug. Villanelle watches, with a small smile, and her hands stuffed deep into her coat pockets.</p><p> </p><p>When they release her from their grips, Eve lets her eyes fall on Villanelle. They move towards each other slowly, powerlessly, until Villanelle wraps her in a slow embrace. </p><p> </p><p>"Happy birthday, <em>malyshka</em>," Villanelle whispers, placing a small kiss into the skin underneath her ear, and Eve's arms still around her shoulders, before hugging her very tightly.</p><p> </p><p>When she steps back, Villanelle notices the faint redness of Eve's eyes; the subtle puffiness of her eyelids that are indicative of secret tears. Villanelle wants to pry, wants to ask: <em>Why do you save your tears for yourself, Eve? Why do you suffer in silence? </em>But she asks none of this, of course. It is not good birthday conversation.</p><p> </p><p>"This is.. <em>wow</em>." Eve raises her eyebrows as she looks around the bar, before letting her eyes fall back on the three of them, "I'm sorry it took me so long to come down. I just - I needed a minute, I guess. This is incredible." She gesticulates to the decorations, "Thank you, guys. And by you guys, I mean Elena."</p><p> </p><p>Hugo frowns at that, "I'll have you know I purchased the decorations."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Hugo showed his commitment with a brave journey to the Dollar Store," Elena rolls her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes travel to the cake on the bar top, taking a few steps so she can inspect it closer, "Why is the cake in the shape of a bus?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle and Elena exchange a sheepish glance.</p><p> </p><p>"The bakery did not have much to choose from," Villanelle shrugs, "It was this or a lopsided disaster with cherries on it."</p><p> </p><p>It's with that admittance that Eve's shoulders finally relax. She lets out a booming laugh - the sound of tension popping - when she realizes that there's nothing grandiose to be expected. There's nothing more to be expected than plastic decorations, a cake fit for a five-year old, and the four of them crammed into empty bar that she has to spend every night working in. It is an outrageously drab birthday, in Villanelle's opinion, but the way Eve's eyes glimmer lead her to believe that it is some shade of perfection. <em>So weird</em>, Villanelle thinks.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They drink, they eat the shitty cake, they drink more - they don't do anything that would indicate they are celebrating a birthday, outside of the cake-eating, but Eve looks happy, so it is fine. They cram into one of the booths - Elena and Hugo on one side, Eve and Villanelle on the other - when it's time for Eve to open her presents.</p><p> </p><p>Elena got her an array of skincare products, and a Hitachi wand, and Villanelle has to bite her lip to keep from barking out a laugh when she mentions something along the lines of <em>Gotta make sure you continue to take care of yourself after this one leaves</em>, and Eve blushes, deeply.</p><p> </p><p>Hugo got her a nice leather wallet, because he is a man, and some part of him convinced himself that it made sense. Eve seems to like it, though, the way she clutches it to her chest.</p><p> </p><p>Eve opens Villanelle's presents, a little more slowly than the others, and it looks very unlike Eve. The woman who ripped the wrapping paper to shreds with her previous gifts, now sits in front of her unwrapping Villanelle's gifts as if the paper is something to be savored. She opens the coat first, and reacts about exactly as Villanelle expected.</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth falls open, and she swats Villanelle's shoulder, "You asshole!"</p><p> </p><p>"You are welcome, Eve." </p><p> </p><p>Elena lunges across the table to get a better look at the material, "Wow. That is.. <em>gorg</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I sure hope it is," Eve laughs, "Given the fact it's five hundred <em>fucking </em>dollars."</p><p> </p><p>Hugo grumbles, "Way to set the bar, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>"Who says it's five hundred dollars?" Villanelle asks, feigning confusion as she looks closely at it, "There is no price tag on it."</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, "I literally looked at the price tag a few days ago."</p><p> </p><p>"You should just enjoy it, Eve." Elena shrugs, smirking, "It's a step-up from that shitty parka you've been parading around in for the last two years."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, Elena," Villanelle hums. "There is something else in there."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's hand fishes around in the box, and Villanelle watches as her eyebrows draw together as her fingers make contact with the material, before pulling the bundle of rope out for all to see.</p><p> </p><p>"Jesus fucking Christ," Hugo mumbles, and Eve's face goes a deep shade of red.</p><p> </p><p>Elena cackles, whilst Eve rushes to hide the rope back in the box, before hitting Villanelle's shoulder once again. That is the second time she has been thanked with the back of Eve's hand, but she will let it slide, because it is her birthday. The Bible verse burns a hole in her coat pocket, but it is not a burn that makes her want to fish it out. It is a burn that encourages her to share it in private, when a shade of privacy exists between herself and Eve.</p><p> </p><p>They finish the second bottle of wine, when the harmless reminiscing starts to turn into introspective questions. Elena plops her chin in her hand on the table, the movement clumsy with inebriation, when she asks, "Alright, bitch. Fortieth year. What do you want to manifest?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve hiccups, letting out a small laugh, "What do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"What do you want to do this year?" Elena clarifies, "You know. What do you want to speak into existence?" </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh.." Eve straightens her posture a bit, but her shoulder still rests against Villanelle's, "I don't know. I mean, we have to figure out everything with the bar, first. But I guess I'd like to.. get back into Journalism, start thinking getting back to New York," she shrugs, before adding, "I'd like to learn how to not kill my houseplants."</p><p> </p><p>Hugo laughs at that, but Villanelle can barely hear it. Eve's alcohol-fueled words settle into the base of her spine, as she lists them. <em>Job. Moving. Better care taking of plants</em>. All of these things spell out reason, and Villanelle knows they only make sense, but her heart still has a hard time understanding that this is not a list that she fits into. Eve does not include her on her list for what she wants to look forward to in this new chapter of her life, because why would she? </p><p> </p><p>There is no way for her to. It only makes sense, and that's why she feels a piece of her heart fall from her chest, into the acid of her wine-filled stomach. Her silence is deafening, so she doesn't realize that Elena had fallen silent too - not until she breaks the silence with a sharp tongue.</p><p> </p><p>"Really?" Elena blurts, and the way she leans forward is <em>interrogative</em>, "You can't think of something else you'd like to add to that list?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve hesitates, before a slow answer falls from her lips, "..<em>No</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"Seriously, Eve?" Elena drops her hand away from her chin, in favor of leaning as closely as she can over the table, "You can't think of <em>something</em>else? <em>Someone</em>else?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle eyebrows shoot up at that, and Hugo pulls Elena back by the shoulder, "<em>Okay</em>, that's enough, El."</p><p> </p><p>They sit in momentary silence. Villanelle doesn't know if she's more grateful to Elena, for making her less feel stupid about her silent truths, or more grateful for Hugo, from keeping her from speaking it further. She <em>does</em>know that she can not look at Eve right now; can't even chance it. </p><p> </p><p>Hugo looks at the clock over the bar, "Alright, it's getting late, and I'm sure you two want to.. enjoy your time together. I'm gonna get this one home."</p><p> </p><p>"Hey!" Elena protests, "Don't talk about me like I'm not right here. I'm drunk, <em>whatever</em>, but I'm a big girl, Hugo."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle and Eve watch the interaction in silence.</p><p> </p><p>"Sure you are." Hugo rolls his eyes, "Let's say our goodbyes."</p><p> </p><p>Elena doesn't protest that. It is surprising that even in her drunken haze, she remains conscious of not wanting to take up any more of their remaining time together. The only time Elena seems to want to take up is that which involves knocking sense into Eve, but that is an issue that will have to be readdressed later on. Preferably, when Villanelle is very much out of the vicinity. </p><p> </p><p>Elena hangs off of Villanelle's shoulders as they say their goodbyes. She holds her tightly, with mutters of <em>I'm gonna miss you</em>, and <em>you better keep in touch, you bitch</em>, and Villanelle just pats her back awkwardly. She affirms Elena with <em>yes, of course</em>, in hopes to put an end to the embrace, and she breathes a sigh of relief when it finally works. What's more interesting is that Villanelle isn't lying. She probably will keep in touch with Elena, in some mediocre form, because she likes her. If that counts as sending the woman a meme once a year, then so be it.</p><p> </p><p>Hugo's goodbye is a lot more curt. He hugs Villanelle, patting her back once, before holding her at arms length and bidding her goodbye with a <em>Take care of yourself, and have fun with that rope</em>. He does not force her into any promise of keeping in touch, because while the man is a slimy weasel - he is not sentimental. She is grateful for it. Maybe she will miss it too, in some way - but probably not.</p><p> </p><p>They leave, not before Elena manages to press a dozen kisses onto Eve's face, but they <em>do</em>, and Villanelle waits with baited breath. She waits for Eve to go quiet, let Elena's comment bury take up the occupancy of her brain until she has no words left to give Villanelle, she waits for the inevitable.</p><p> </p><p>She is very surprised when Eve's lips curl into a small smile, and a shrug, and she says, "Let's just.. enjoy the night. Time is slipping."</p><p> </p><p>It is, so they do.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p>When they stumble back into Eve's apartment well-past midnight, they are fully drunk.</p><p> </p><p>They stumble through the apartment, a two-person tornado of shed clothing and clumsy hands, as they make their way to the bedroom. Eve's mouth is ruthless as it bites into Villanelle's shoulder, and Villanelle's hands are equally as so when they push Eve up against the wall to bruise her lips with a kiss. They manage to stay connected as one unit, despite the wine in their bodies threatening to tear them apart, until Eve pushes away from the wall with a little too much force for her brain to keep up with. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lands on her back on the floor with a thud, and Eve falls atop of her. The intensity of Eve's want does not even allow them to separate for a moment of laughter - <em>no</em>, the intensity of Eve's want leaves Villanelle to believe they might just swallow each other whole.</p><p> </p><p>So, they do not get up and rectify their situation with the comfort of bed sheets and soft pillows. They have sex on the floor, the hard surface digging into her spine in a similar fashion the way Eve's fingers dig into her with pure want.</p><p> </p><p>It is birthday sex, reimagined - forty years of repressed wants, deep desires, and neglected cravings all bubbling to the surface, at once. Eve takes her, and Villanelle wonders if her body has enough room to carry all of the emotions that Eve puts inside of her. It does, she realizes, when she cums twice, and still finds herself wanting to give Eve more. It is an empty want, though - because their bodies are languid with alcohol and laze, so the emptiness of this want translates to an inevitable intermission.</p><p> </p><p>They crawl onto the bed with the lazy bodies, and wrap themselves up in sheets - and they don't question the purity, or the softness the moment holds, as Villanelle lays her head against Eve's heavy-breathing chest. There is no more time to question anything, any more. There is no more time for concerns, or hesitancies. Because, there is no more time. They have spent it all. </p><p> </p><p>"Best birthday gift yet," Eve laughs quietly, letting her fingers trail through Villanelle's hair, "We didn't use the rope, though."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, the night is not over yet." Villanelle pulls her head up to rest her chin on Eve's collarbone, "That reminds me. I have something for you."</p><p> </p><p>"Something else?" Eve's eyebrows draw together, "If it's sex-related, I'm gonna need a minute."</p><p> </p><p>"It's not." Villanelle offers her a small smile, before throwing the sheets back and hopping out of bed, naked as walks out of the room to where her coat is.</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't try to stop the small protest of <em>No, don't </em>that falls out of her mouth, when she is left in an empty bed. Villanelle doesn't try to stop the relishing that comes as result of knowing Eve likes being as close to her, as she does to Eve. Just like there is no point in questioning, there is no point in fighting unnatural forces. The grains of sand fall, the clock ticks, and sense is long forgotten. They just succumb.</p><p> </p><p>She fishes the small folded piece of paper out of her coat pocket, before pouncing back into bed. Her movements are a little clumsy, but she leans on her elbow to steady herself, and draws the sheets up around her waist. She hands Eve the paper, before she can think twice about it. </p><p> </p><p>Eve eyes it curiously, taking it from Villanelle's hand, before sitting up against the pillows and opening it. She cocks an eyebrow as she lets her eyes fall over it. She looks at Villanelle with dumb, drunk eyes, and she fails to understand.</p><p> </p><p>"Is this a chapter from <em>Genesis</em>?" She asks, slowly.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. I tore it out of the Bible in my hotel room." </p><p> </p><p>"Wow, I am pretty sure that is.. <em>sacrilege</em>." Eve laughs, confusedly, "Why are you giving me this?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, "It is the part about the Great Flood. You know it?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve gives a slow nod.</p><p> </p><p>"God flooded the Earth for forty days, and forty nights."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares.</p><p> </p><p>"He destroyed the Earth, to create it anew."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes?" Eve pauses, shaking her head as she lowers the paper, "I'm sorry, I'm not following."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle gives her a small smile, letting her hand rest on Eve's, "You are forty now, Eve. I know that you do not like to be reminded of that, but I think that it is powerful." Villanelle swallows, wondering if this is the point where she should feel embarrassed, the wine tells her to keep going, "Forty years of experience, forty years of resilience, forty years of perseverance. I see all of this when I look at you."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares at her, but her silence is no longer one of confusion - her eyes widen with something akin to shock, or awe. It could be either, given the way she is regurgitating her long-suppressed intensities, but Villanelle does not know which one it is because she does not tell her. Eve's mouth stays very still, and so Villanelle continues.</p><p> </p><p>"I know that it is no use to tell you what to do. You have the power to decide that for yourself, and I do not think you would listen to me anyways. But sometimes, we have to destroy things so that we can build something new." Villanelle sighs, hiccuping a bit as she searches Eve's face, "I hope that you will think about this when you decide when to go back to New York. You have time, Eve, but time is wasted when we are not doing what we love. You do not.. <em>love </em>it here, I can tell. But you do love Journalism." Villanelle shrugs, "I think that you should go back. Do what you love."</p><p> </p><p>Wow, she is really throwing that <em>love</em> word around generously. Alcohol loosens the tongue, sure, but she knows that her tongue would not have done much to keep these words from falling if she was sober. Not at this point, not when time weighs on her tongue like a truth serum,</p><p> </p><p>Eve swallows, and Villanelle watches as her eyes glaze over with tears that come too easily, maybe at the offering of vulnerability or the wine in her blood, but <em>there </em>none-the-less. They do not fall, and Villanelle figures that is forty years of mastering the art. </p><p> </p><p>Eve does not verbalize her gratitude, but Villanelle feels it when Eve crashes forward to press her lips against hers with poignant <em>Thanks</em>. She feels the wetness of Eve's appreciation in the tears that moisten the skin of Villanelle's cheeks. Eve's world, flooded by forty years of pain and perseverance, floods Villanelle's. She feels the fires get put out, she feels her fight get swept away in the tides, and she feels water fill the void in her chest that she's fought to keep perfectly empty. She feels it all.</p><p> </p><p>It is the last time she feels the need to draw comparisons between Eve and the Bible, or make sense of their relationship through rom-coms, or draw distinctions between Eve and Anna.</p><p> </p><p>She does not feel the need to do these things any longer, because she realizes there is no need to try make sense of Eve. It is of no use.</p><p> </p><p>Eve has spent forty years creating her own world. There is no other world to compare it to - not when she feels all of it in Eve's lips; not when she is allowed to stomach it with her kiss. She feels it, and she realizes the feeling as something that no longer echoes an obsession with <em>wanting </em>to fit into Eve's world, but wanting Eve's world to exist in the very way Eve wants it to. If their worlds touch only for a short amount of time, Villanelle will mourn, but she will do so without regret. The ball doesn't bounce in her stomach, like it once did - it transforms into something bigger, something shared, something merged: a world of their own, touching in the way fate allows, and existing only for as long as time will allow.</p><p> </p><p>When they have sex again, it happens in this world. It is slower then how its happened in the other worlds: precise, languid, <em>savored</em>. It feels a lot less like having sex, and it feels a lot more like making love. Villanelle feels it, the way her fingers curl inside of Eve, feels it as she lets her mouth trails slow kisses around Eve's bellybutton. She is not surprised when she finds her mouth spelling it out, in every way that doesn't include speaking it: <em>I love you. </em></p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's body trembles with a closeness, with the feeling of being untethered to float closer to an orbit she didn't know she was supposed to exist within, and she wonders how deep that closeness goes. She wonders where it starts, and finishes - or whether it can be even be measured by beginnings and ends. So, she tries to figure it out, with her body. It is her only shot.</p><p> </p><p>That is the issue with the illogical. Nonsense is oppressive. It buries your words, buries the potential for <em>I love you's </em>after four weeks, and forces you to communicate with the physical, forces you to use your hands to ask, <em>Do you love me?</em></p><p> </p><p>When she moves into Eve, slowly this time, she watches as the woman's eyes flutter close, and she tries to understand, "Say my name, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes flutter open, they fall heavily upon Villanelle as she mutters a broken, "Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thrusts into her again, as she gives a soft shake of her head, "My other name."</p><p> </p><p>Eve swallows the moan bubbling in her throat, and a beat of silence takes place its place, but her eyes don't fall away from Villanelle's when she mutters a quiet. They just widen as she offers a wet and broken, "Oksana."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle understands then, when Eve comes undone against her hand. She understands when Eve utters a name that has marked her past, and haunted her present, and the name tethers them. It is not coming undone, it is a merging of her worlds, a way for Villanelle to say: <em>You have all of what I can give you - you have my past, and my present, when you can not have my future</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It is coming together, simply and fully. Villanelle understands when she doesn't feel the rope break, like she has been expecting it to, but she understands when it tightens to an extent that she has yet to feel. It pulls her closer, pulls them closer, until Villanelle stops pulling on her end - no, she just follows it as she climbs up Eve's body and captures her lips in a slow kiss. Bloody hands, long forgotten. </p><p> </p><p>She lays down next to Eve, wordlessly, and gathers the woman up in her arms until they're laid together in a quiet post-coital haze - for once, nothing needing to be said. No pull to do anything besides be together. Eve doesn't ask her why Villanelle asked her to call her by a name long-forgotten, because she understands. The air lingers with a heavy offering, but it lingers heavier with acceptance of that offering. </p><p> </p><p>Eve talks eventually, only when she feels like it, and the words come out in a whisper against Villanelle's shoulder, "I can't believe you're leaving tomorrow."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle inhales deeply, letting her fingers trace over the expanse of Eve's hips, "Me either."</p><p> </p><p>"You won't be in New York much, huh?" Villanelle cocks an eyebrow, wondering how Eve knows this, but she figures it doesn't have to make sense when Eve says, "I have a feeling."</p><p> </p><p>"Not often," Villanelle whispers truthfully, and the words slide out of her throat in the way one may slowly cough up a blade. </p><p> </p><p>"We'll see each other at some point, though." Eve offers it as a statement, but it reads as more of a question.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle readjusts to lay down on her side until her and Eve are face-to-face.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Villanelle's smile is small, "You will be the first I call when I am in the city." </p><p> </p><p>"What? Like a booty call?" Eve laughs quietly.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve. The sex is that good. I will make weekend trips for it," Villanelle rolls her eyes, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Eve's hair.</p><p> </p><p>The simplicity of their conversation feels absurd. It feels like it should be impossible to cough up a laugh, or a joke, given the weight on her chest - but she knows that it only makes sense, now. It is very simple, because she loves Eve. </p><p> </p><p>"I've never done anything like this before," Eve whispers quietly, her voice suddenly becoming very small, "I don't even know what to call it. Friends with benefits doesn't exactly seem to.. <em>hit the mark</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs quietly, and it hurts, "It's okay. Me either." </p><p> </p><p>It does not feel elementary - like it has in the past when they have tip-toed around their feelings. It feels like they're saying what can't be said. It's a careful admittance, weighted by circumstance, but simple in it's truth. </p><p> </p><p>She lets her hand falls away from Eve's face, and she exhales shakily before offering, "If that is what we're calling it, friends or.. <em>whatever</em>, I think that you are probably the best one I have, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I love you, in your way. The way that you'll let me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets out a laugh, quiet and shaky like her voice when she says, "You're mine, too."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I love you, in my way. The way that I can. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It overwhelms Villanelle, and she blows some air of out her cheeks, "I think that Elena would be very sad to hear that."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's laugh slashes through the heaviness, "Well, Elena doesn't give me mind-blowing orgasms so I think she can stand to be knocked down a peg."</p><p> </p><p>So, Villanelle laughs too. They laugh quietly until the sound dies out, and they're just laid staring at each-other once again. In a dazed realm, their bodies fighting sleep, but their hearts achingly awake. </p><p> </p><p>"I hate goodbyes," Eve mutters, tucking her chin into the crook of her arm, and she seems to lose her fight for eloquence when she says, "They <em>suck</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Do not be overdramatic, Eve." Villanelle loops an arm around her waist, "It is not a goodbye."</p><p> </p><p>"Isn't it, in some way?" Eve laughs, a little coldly this time.</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe," Villanelle replies, warmly, warm enough to cancel out Eve's cold, "But hasn't it always been?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares. Villanelle doesn't miss the way her lip trembles; doesn't miss the anger lingering in her eyes, and it makes Villanelle feel helpless. She can not offer her hand to Eve, or offer to burden her weight, because Eve is not angry at her. She is angry at time - for bringing them together, and for pulling them apart.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses, sighing before adding, "You hate them that much? Goodbyes?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm," Villanelle thinks about this. </p><p> </p><p>She thinks about it as she lets her eyes trace the features of Eve's nose, the lines around her eyes, the bow of her lip. She thinks about it as she watches Eve's face lose the fight against consciousness. She thinks about it as she watches her forehead creases relax, and her eyebrows unknit. She thinks about it as she watches Eve succumb to a realm of peace. She thinks about poking Eve, begging her to stay awake, but she does not. It is nice to watch Eve this way - unburdened by consciousness, and non-plussed about things like time and love. Sleep never finds her; so, she is able to watch for a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>She does not sleep, because she decides to give Eve a final birthday gift. Some stress to clear from her plate; an offer of help - the only one she can give her.</p><p> </p><p>She gives Eve the gift of a not-goodbye.</p><p> </p><p>She lays awake, until the early twilight casts a grey shadow over Eve's sleeping form, and then she gets up. She dresses very quietly. She gathers her things and puts them near the door even more quietly, before returning the room once more. She lets her eyes trail over the curls of Eve's head splayed across the pillow, and she lets that serve as confirmation: It is always better to know, than to guess. She knows what Eve's hair feels like in her fingers - it creates a caveat of deeper suffering in her chest - but it is better to know. To suffer. To experience time.</p><p> </p><p>She places a note on the empty pillow next to her. Loopy script slapped onto paper with a pained hand that reads:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sorry, Baby</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>X</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And then, she leaves. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the art of losing’s not too hard to master</em>
</p><p>
  <em>though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>expanding further upon the beginning notes here: I had always intended to interlace the poem with one of the chapters, but the Bible verses that I interlaced on the last chapter were a last min decision. I wonder if it was overkill interlacing with prose back-to-back? let me know what you think!</p><p>this chapter was probably the hardest one I've had to write, to date.. lol, I mean it this time! the chapters that I have shaped out in my head always come together a little more seamlessly (like the beginning, and the end) but the in-between can feel really hard to pull to pull together. esp because I'm a firm-believer in only time-jumping when it's necessary, so that was a real learning curve in this one! I tried to exercise some grace when it came to re-reading it, but my eye remained critical, and it got to the point where I just had to post it!</p><p>as always: all times of feedback is welcome! whether's that's just letting me know how this made you feel, or constructive criticism, or if you just want to yell at me.. please feel free to do any of this! I can't express how much I appreciate each and every one of you.. can't believe we have one more left (tear) what a wild ride this has been!</p><p>hope you're all well, and taking care &lt;3</p><p>talk to me on the Bird app if you want! @digitizedturtle</p><p>P.S. - this chapter was a little harder to write because my work life is a little bananas right now and will continue to be for the next week, so I'm gonna delay the update time yet again.. please know I'm so sorry to keep you waiting but the conclusion is probably the most important part to me, and I'd rather delivery something quality than something clunky bc of time shortage! last chap will be up no later than next Weds</p><p>XOXO</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>damn, don't know what to say about this one. is there anything left to say? yes, there always is..</p><p>23,268 words and each one of them is a thank you. a thank you for waiting, a thank you for making it this far, and a thank you for joining me for the ride. more than twenty-thousand thank you's, but I still have to thank you here! </p><p>this fic has been such a weird, explorative journey, and engaging with those of you who have been reading it means something that I can't put forth into this little box. I hope you can feel it.. but if you can't, please know I am mustering the most sincere thank you I can!</p><p> </p><p>TW: themes of disassociation (similar tones to past chapters, so please regard that before reading!)</p><p>more, at the end..</p><p>XO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Newton's first law states that an object will not change its its motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't know why she thinks about it. Perhaps, because she is on airplane - something Newton's first law applies to. Perhaps, because on this airplane, she has resigned herself to little distraction. She does not watch the movie playing on the screen in front of her, she does not read the Inflight Magazine, and she definitely does <em>not </em>turn on her phone.</p><p> </p><p>She could turn on her phone, if she wanted - the airline allows you to buy cellular access, but she does not want to. If she turns on her phone, there might be a text from Eve. One that reads:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You're a fucking asshole.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>or, even worse:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Come back.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't know why she feels that her heart would have an easier time accepting Eve's anger rather than her longing. The truth is if Eve texted her asking her to come back, Villanelle would be helpless to do so. Not 40,000 feet above the ground. She supposes she could make it happen, if she really wanted. She could kick down the door to the cockpit, threaten the captain until he turned around and flew the hunk of metal right back to Franklin. It would be very romantic. </p><p> </p><p>But she will not do that, because she does not know if Eve would even want her to come back, and she will continue not to know because she will not turn on her phone.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she looks out the window - sipping at her shitty airplane coffee, while her eyes fix no where in particular - and she thinks about Newton's first law of motion.</p><p> </p><p>It applies to airplanes, it applies to soccer balls when they are kicked (she remembers this example from a textbook when she was younger), it applies to <em>time</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Time does not seem to stop moving outside of Franklin, Pennsylvania.</p><p> </p><p>She does not know why she expected something to happen - a reset, or a pause of the clock. Time is something that is always in motion, of course. The pilot has the audacity to reminder her of this, when his voice carries over the intercom:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Alright, folks. We have three hours and forty minutes left until we touch down in London. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When the muscle in her chest spasms, she figures Newton's first law must apply to heartbreak, too. The slow kind. The kind that involves small pieces of the heart breaking off, disappearing into stomach acid, until there is nothing left. Slow heartbreak, a symptom of time, and time, a symptom of <em>Newton's first law</em>. </p><p> </p><p>This is when the hiccups start. <em>Objects of motion</em>. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She doesn't turn her phone back on until she de-boards the plane. Even then, she almost doesn't. She considers flagging down a taxi to get back to her apartment, and throwing her phone out the window along the way. But, she does not do this, because it is ridiculous.</p><p> </p><p>When she turns it on, her phone buzzes with a handful of new notifications. They pop onto the screen like fruit flies, multiplying and incessant. She steadies herself before letting her eyes fall upon them. One from Eve, at 8 AM:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>This note better be in reference to you leaving to get coffee, or something.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Another, at 8:05 AM:</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Or maybe you forgot to do something at Carolyn's? Let me know.</em></p><p> </p><p>Two missed calls at 8:45 AM. </p><p> </p><p>Another text at 9:03 AM:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>This better some weird fucking joke, Villanelle</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Two more missed calls at 9:50 AM.</p><p> </p><p>One last text at 12:05 PM:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎: </span>What fucked up part of your brain convinced you this is fair?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eye glaze over the last text. She had expected Eve's anger - it is not something that is hard to achieve. But she did not expect Eve to call fairness into question. Isn't this fair?</p><p> </p><p>Didn't she give Eve exactly what she wanted, in some way? </p><p> </p><p>She looks at the text until somebody bumps into her. <em>Right</em>, she is in an airport full of people trying to get from point A to point B. People in motion.</p><p> </p><p>An airport full of people completely indifferent to her current state. </p><p> </p><p>She puts her phone away. </p><p> </p><p>When she gets outside, she waves down a taxi.</p><p> </p><p>The ride is bumpy, chaotic with the traffic of London's rush hour, and the driver mutters string of profanities under his breath. The car jolts a little bit to the right, and her suitcases go flying around in the truck. Her body moves only slightly - locked into place by her seatbelt, or something else.</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry about that," his voice carries from the driver's seat, in a low British timbre, "I think my wheel alignment is a little shot. Car won't stop pulling to the right."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle exhales a quiet snort, as she lets her forehead rest against the glass of the window, "I do not think it is the car."</p><p> </p><p>"Whad'ya say?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Did she say that out loud?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing. Sorry," she apologizes into the unfamiliar air of the car, the scent of pine tree and cigarettes, and she wonders if she should ask him to drive far past her apartment.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if she should say, <em>I do not think your car is pulling because of the alignment, I think your car is pulling because I have a rope attached to my waist.</em></p><p> </p><p>She wonders if she should ask, <em>Should we drive all the way out to the ocean, see how far we can stretch it, see if it ever breaks?</em></p><p> </p><p>She wonders if she should offer her truth, <em>It will not ever break, I think.</em></p><p> </p><p>She wonders if this is what feels like when pride slips away. She wonders if this is what it feels like when regret seeps in. She wonders if her body mustered all of its braveness for Eve, to reduce her to something weak and frail in her solitude.</p><p> </p><p>She hiccups the rest of the ride.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The driver helps her carry her luggage up to her apartment, and then he leaves. She considers asking him to stay, she is finding comfort in the scent of tobacco and pine tree, but she doesn't. She seems to have lost all ability to make her mouth move when she wants it to, and make it stop moving when she needs it to. He leaves with a <em>Take Care</em>, and she's grateful for the instruction. It gives her a clear idea of what she should do next.</p><p> </p><p>The air hums with the quiet anticipation of 6 PM on a Saturday. It hums with the sound of offices closing, people stopping by their homes to change before going out for drinks, the loudness of rush hour traffic slowly being replaced with loudness of laughter as friends stroll down the street. She wonders if she should throw herself into it. </p><p> </p><p>Her driver left her with the instruction to <em>Take Care</em>, and she assumes that does not translate to <em>Distract, until you forget who you are</em>. She figures she can do both <em>Take Care </em>and <em>Distract</em>, but maybe not simultaneously. Conclusions that end in maintaining sanity tend to require a myriad of approaches. First, she will <em>Take Care</em>. Later, she will <em>Distract</em>. Her legs shake with the feeling of jet-lag, of reacclimatizing to time, and she lets them carry her to the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>She showers. She takes a long time washing her hair, and washing her body. It does not feel like washing. It feels like trying to wash a dirty plate without dish soap. Water hits it, but the grease remains. She scrubs at her skin until her fingers cramp, but it feels fruitless. It does not feel like taking care. She gives up.</p><p> </p><p>She drinks a glass of water over her sink, and holds her breath. Getting rid of hiccups requires a  lot of body work - letting her throat expand to let liquid fall down it, letting her breath still - and it's a painful reminder of all the ways she's forced to occupy a body that she doesn't feel inside of. She tries a couple times, though, and eventually, it works. She takes care.</p><p> </p><p>She lays in bed. She doesn't find rest. She lays down for a long time, covers pulled up over her head, whilst the the sound of London on a Saturday night echoes around her. Perhaps, it wouldn't hurt a little bit if she let some <em>Distraction </em>bleed into her <em>Taking care</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls up her laptop and lets reruns of the <em>The Great British Baking Show </em>play on in the background. The hours pass, carelessly, and Netflix throws her a screen that reads <em>Are You Still Watching?</em>, and she thinks its insulting. She takes this brief intermission to finally text Eve back:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You said you do not like goodbyes, Eve! 🙈</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She wants to include something else. It feels lackluster. Maybe another answer to a question that Eve asked long ago, over dinner in her apartment:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Is there anything you're not good at?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She wants to to tell Eve that she is actually really shit at baking. She tried it out a few times, but the measurements require a level of precision that Villanelle's hand doesn't hold, so she gave up. She wants to tell Eve that she prefers cooking anyways - you can add whatever you want, tasting as you go, and she thinks it's better that way. She wants to tell Eve, because she misses Eve already.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks briefly about telling Eve that it seems she is bad at goodbyes, too. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't, of course.</p><p> </p><p>She silences her phone after that. She clicks her mousepad a little forcefully, to say <em>Yes, Netflix, I am still watching, you piece of shit</em>. She watches until the sound of London liveliness quiets to a dull chatter - slurred words and clunky steps, outside of her apartment. People going home alone, and people going home together, all components of a 2 AM loneliness. Netflix asks her again, <em>Are You Still Watching? </em></p><p> </p><p>The audacity forces her to look away from her computer screen. Isn't that supposed to be the saving grace of machines? They are not supposed to ask you probing questions - no, they are only supposed to do exactly what you tell them. She looks at the other little machine on her bed, the one that she silenced long ago:</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>Two missed FaceTime calls</em></p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>V!!!! for somebody who's pretty fucking smart you can be pretty fucking stupid! I'm worried about you tho x send me a text to let me know you're ok</em></p><p> </p><p>One text from Eve, sent thirty minutes ago,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎:</span>There is so much I want to say to you Villanelle but the only thing coming to mind is that you're a fucking asshole</em>
</p><p> </p><p>There is is. The hiccups come back. She puts away the little machine, and she closes the lid of the bigger machine - the one that asks questions like: <em>Are You Still Watching? Are you ever going to move, you coward? Is the regret too heavy? </em></p><p> </p><p>Sleep finds her, eventually. She sleeps for a very long time. She sleeps until Sunday morning bleeds into Sunday afternoon. She sleeps the way God intended for people to, on Sundays. It feels less like rest, and more like putting away her consciousness. But she spends all of Sunday doing it. She wonders if this will grant her access into Heaven. She wonders if she will find herself on her knees, in front of the gates, while she catches glimpses of Eve's hair from inside. She thinks if there is a Heaven, that it is probably not meant for people like her or Eve. </p><p> </p><p>She sleeps all through Sunday, until it is a day erased from history. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>Newton's second law of motion states that if you apply more force to an object, it accelerates at a higher rate. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She has to Google this one. </p><p> </p><p>She wakes up Monday, feeling all-too-awake and all-too-aware of the persistent heaviness in her chest, so she Googles it.</p><p> </p><p>If God marked Sunday as a day of rest, then Newton must have marked Monday as a day of reawakening. This is how she internalizes it. She feels resigned to carrying out her week in the way she would any other week - but she looks at is less as means of distracting, and more as means of <em>speeding up the process</em>. How quickly can she speed up the process of heart-break, until the muscle disintegrates into nothing, and she no longer has to feel it? </p><p> </p><p>It is easier to measure time when it is looked at like something of a task. </p><p> </p><p>It is harder to measure time if she uses a post-Eve metric system.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Three days post Eve. Three days for resolve to turn into regret. Three days to fall into old habits.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She gets up. She gets ready for work. She does not hiccup, and she takes that as a good sign. </p><p> </p><p>When she gets back to the London office, she walks in with baited-breath and her chin held high. She is glad to see the building is still standing, as she would not be surprised if a hole opened up in the Earth and swallowed it whole. When she walks in, everything looks about the same. The overly spacious lobby, London's clouds casting a grey glow over the carpet, chairs that nobody waits in, and plants spread across the corners. <em>It's kind of off-putting</em>, she realizes.</p><p> </p><p>Her breath stutters when she is greeted by a new face working the front desk. </p><p> </p><p>"Who are you?" Her breath turns into a bark, at the blonde, <em>not-Audrey </em>receptionist, as she comes to stand in front of the desk.</p><p> </p><p>She peers over it, large and looming, and the young woman recoils in her desk chair.</p><p> </p><p>"Uh - Amber. I'm Amber Peel." The young woman stutters, and her accent sounds like nails on a chalkboard to Villanelle's ears, "I started a couple weeks ago."</p><p> </p><p>She frowns. There seems to be no familiarity left in the world - not in Franklin, and not in the stranger working the front desk of the office she left behind. She opens her mouth to respond, and a hiccup find its way out. She clenches her fists.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Apply pressure. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When she waltzes past <em>Amber </em>without saying another word, she convinces herself that its persevering. She pushes the <em>Up </em>button on the Elevator a little too harshly - her fingertip scrunches unnaturally against the cool metal of the button. She is grateful that nobody enters in with her. The elevator ride is short, and suffocating - and they still have the same shit <em>Bossa Nova </em>music playing through the speakers that has haunted her on one too many hungover mornings. It is disgusting, and familiar.</p><p> </p><p>When she gets to the top floor, she breathes a sigh of relief when the office seems to remain in a similar to standing to how she left it. The furniture has not been pushed around. The grey light seeps in through the windows, in the same way it always does. The door to Konstantin's office is closed, like it always is. There are opened packs of <em>Fangtastics </em>laying around that have not made their way to the trash, because Kenny still does seem to know how to find one.</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's desk remains pushed into the corner, against the window, where he sits at it with his headphones in. His head is bobbing as he works in <em>Live Home</em>, and he remains perfectly unaware of Villanelle's presence - as he always does. She always chastises him about working with his back to the door.</p><p> </p><p>What if a gunman came in? He would not know until he no longer had time to react. He always responds with a, <em>Why would a gunman come into an Interior Design firm building? </em></p><p> </p><p><em>People do crazy things when you don't match their countertops to their tile, </em>is how Villanelle managed to shut him up last time. He has obviously not taken her advice, though.</p><p> </p><p>So when she runs up behind him, her arms as a weapon, and she throws them around his shoulders, he jumps out of his seat the way one would if a gunman approached him.</p><p> </p><p>He pushes himself into a standing position, throwing his headphones off in the process, until he is stood a few feet away from Villanelle with wide-eyes and a panting chest.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>?" He exhales, putting a hand over his heart, "What the <em>hell</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Kenny looks at her like a scared puppy. She smirks.</p><p> </p><p>Some things never change. There is comfort to be found in that.</p><p> </p><p>"You seem surprised to see me, Kenny." She tuts, "You knew I was coming back this week, no?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I knew you were coming back. But I didn't expect you to come barreling in with a.. <em>hug</em>," his breathing begins to even out, but his eyes still search hers, wide and confused, "What happened to you? Did you get body snatched?"</p><p> </p><p>She quirks a brow, "Body snatched? What does this mean?"</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if it's that evident on her face. If obvious Kenny can tell that she is simultaneously existing within the confines of her body, and very far outside of it, maybe she is not persevering after all. Is there a word for this? <em>Body snatched</em>? That would make it easier to understand.</p><p> </p><p>"You've never seen <em>Body Snatchers</em>?" He shakes his head, "Never mind."</p><p> </p><p>He takes a couple awkward steps, before placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm happy you're back, even if you're acting... <em>weird</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is sure it's supposed to read as some kind of gawky affection, but the moment has passed. She shrugs off his hand. Her body reacted to seeing him before her brain did, but she can only allow Kenny one hug per year otherwise the man might combust into an awkward explosion of nervous energy. She needs him around to balance the work load.</p><p> </p><p>He rolls his eyes, gathering his headphones up, before plopping back into his chair, "How was Pennsylvania?"</p><p> </p><p>"It was fine."</p><p> </p><p>She sits on his desk, letting her feet hang off the ground, as she leans back on her palms.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fine</em>?" He eyes her curiously, letting his headphones rest around his neck, "Konstantin said you were all caught up in-"</p><p> </p><p>"Where's Audrey?" Villanelle inquires, leveling him an eye contact that commands a subject change.</p><p> </p><p>She has a plan. Monday is a reset. There will be no mentions of Eve this week. It is a plan, one that she needs to work, so she will not allow Kenny to spoil it less than two hours into it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Apply pressure.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Kenny narrows his eyes at her, before blowing some air out of his cheeks, and his shoulders collapse with the movement, "She got accepted into graduate school in Bristol. She had her last day a couple weeks ago." </p><p> </p><p>The words are dripping with devastation. Villanelle can taste it. It lightens the blow of coming face-to-face with a new receptionist, because this means she is not the only heart-broken person in the office. It is a selfish thought process, but it is one that allows some weight to fall off of her shoulders.  </p><p> </p><p>"Why did nobody tell me?" </p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, you barely acknowledged Audrey."</p><p> </p><p>"Whatever." She sighs, letting her feet swing lazily in the air, "You are sad?"</p><p> </p><p>He lets his eyes fall, in that submissive way that he does, when he says, "Yeah, of course I'm sad."</p><p> </p><p>"Did you two break up?" She eyes him, curiously. </p><p> </p><p>She wants to ask other questions: <em>Do the birds chirping outside sound like missiles waiting to implode upon your shoulders? Do you feel nauseous and hungry at the same time? Have you forgone sugar in your coffee in favor of regret - what does it taste like?</em></p><p> </p><p>Kenny laughs sadly, scratching the back of his neck, "Kind of hard to break up when you were never officially together."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tell me about it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs, looking around the office, before an idea falls upon her. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you want to go out tonight?"</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's head whips up at that, "<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"You are heartbroken, no? That is what heartbroken people do." Villanelle lifts her chin up, hopes to muster an air of bravado, and it feels much harder than it used to, "We will go out, have some drinks. We will get you laid!"</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's cheeks redden a bit, at that, "Since when do you care if I'm sad or not?"</p><p> </p><p>"Of course I care, Kenny," she pouts, letting her lower lip jut out, "I tell you all of the time."</p><p> </p><p>"You have literally never told me that."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I do."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you feeling okay?"</p><p> </p><p>The question comes out playfully, light-hearted even. But the way he eyes her holds a curiosity that is heavy. It drags her shoulders down. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes," her voice cracks a little, "Why do you ask?"</p><p> </p><p>"You never ask me to go out with you. The few times we have gone out together, you've always left early to sleep with.. <em>somebody</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"That's not true."</p><p> </p><p>Kenny snorts, "Yes, it is. The bartender, that one time. The Italian woman, the other time. Last time we had dinner, you.." his voice reduces into a whisper, "had <em>sex </em>with our waitress in the bathroom."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, "We will make up for lost time then."</p><p> </p><p>"What happened in Franklin?"</p><p> </p><p>He asks this one, soberly; seriously. There is not a hint of playful energy in Kenny's eyes. It's just probing. It is the kind of look she did not know Kenny was capable of. The kind of look that makes her feel like she's shed layers of skin - and she stands in front of him, bare bones and muscle tissue. It's the kind of look she finds on Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She hiccups.</p><p> </p><p>It is a disgusting sound. The sound of a bubble popping, the sound of glass shattering, the sound of the muscle in her chest, still pumping. It is a sound that sucks up all of her words, until she is left to look only look at Kenny, stupidly and quietly.</p><p> </p><p>It is a sound that says: <em>I don't know how to do this anymore. </em></p><p> </p><p>It isn't until tears sting the corner of her eyes that she hops off Kenny's desk, ceasing their eye contact, and ceasing any further conversation.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm going to go see Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>."</p><p> </p><p>She's walking away from his desk when he calls her name, and she doesn't turn around. It doesn't sound like her name, anyways. She continues towards the closed door.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle. He's not here."</p><p> </p><p>She whips around, eyebrows knit together and eyes narrowed with a threat, "What?"</p><p> </p><p>Kenny swallows, "He's still in Brussels. He'll be back next week."</p><p> </p><p>"But he knew that I was coming back this week."</p><p> </p><p>"It's business. He had something to take care of," Kenny offers, with a confused shrug.</p><p> </p><p>She inhales, and it feels like poison gas. She exhales, and it still feels like poison gas.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm going into his office anyways."</p><p> </p><p>"Sure. I don't care. I'm not getting paid enough to stop you."</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, "Your mom is a billionaire, Kenny."</p><p> </p><p>She hiccups, and it makes her feet move. </p><p> </p><p>When she gets into Konstantin's office, she shuts the door behind her. She lets her back collapse against it. She takes in the unchanged scenery with wide eyes. The empty rocks glass on the table, the globe in the corner, the haphazard mess of files splayed out over his desk. His scent still lingers - oud, and clove. Familiar, in the way that she can smell it, but she can not touch it.</p><p> </p><p>What use is familiarity if it continues to be out of reach? </p><p> </p><p>She inhales it, and the air her lungs shifts from something solemn, to something angry. </p><p> </p><p>She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and calls Konstantin. She is desperate for a place to put her anger - it bounces in her fingers, and it slithers to her feet. She paces around the office until he picks up. It only takes a few rings. </p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Villanelle," he says casually, preoccupied.</p><p> </p><p>"Where are you?" </p><p> </p><p>"Brussels," he offers, indifferent, the voice of a person who continues to live care-free in a world that she is suffering in, "Where are you? Still in Franklin, or are you back in London?"</p><p> </p><p>"London," she breathes out.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, good," she can hear his smile over the phone, "I was worried that you might never come back."</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence. A beat of nausea. A hiccup.</p><p> </p><p>"Why the <em>fuck </em>are you in Brussels, Konstantin?"</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence, from his end. She wonders what his tastes like. Calmness. Serenity. <em>Fine</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He seems fine.</p><p> </p><p>"I have business here, Villanelle." She hears him walking, shuffling to somewhere quieter, the corner of a conference room, maybe, "What is going on?"</p><p> </p><p>"You knew that I was coming back this week."</p><p> </p><p>She bites her lip, <em>hard</em>. It is an act intended to keep the tears from falling, but it makes her eyes water in the artificial way. It is better that way, right now, blood over tears. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes?" He questions her, and his voice sounds vague, "I knew that. But.. we are always coming and going, at different times."</p><p> </p><p>She closes her eyes. She's being ridiculous - it's worse when she's aware of it. She can feel the humility, the sickness it inspires. She shakes her head, and breathes out.</p><p> </p><p>"I just expected you to be here."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I needed you to be here.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Silenceover a telephone feels very alienating. You can not see the other person's face, you can only guess what it must look like. Over this silence, she guesses that Konstantin's face is etched with lines of worry, eyes crinkled at the corners with confusions, lips curled into a frown.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you okay, Villanelle?" He asks, uselessly, "Do you need me to come back?"</p><p> </p><p>"No." She bites back, and then she loses her bite, when she says, "I don't <em>need </em>you to come back. I just.. expected you to be here."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I don't need anything. I don't know.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p> He pauses, "Okay, I have a meeting now, but you will call if you need anything?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I don't know.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay. Be good."</p><p> </p><p><em>Click</em>. </p><p> </p><p>She tastes metal on her lower lip. When she brings her finger up to trace it, she pulls away to find a small drop of blood. <em>It looks nice</em>, she thinks. Like a reward, or something.</p><p> </p><p>She's playing a different kind of game with her body; a different kind of suffering. Catch-up.</p><p> </p><p>She chose suffering with Eve. The real kind, the kind you can't really choose. The kind that opens your chest, and forces your heart as witness to the blood sputtering from it. The kind of suffering that is silent and painful. The kind of suffering that makes you feel crazy because you can't even see the blood.</p><p> </p><p>She chooses a different kind of suffering in her solitude. The kind you force. The kind that isn't vulnerable, but the kind you can see. The kind where you bite your lip until it bleeds. It is a suffering she's used to. One she has resorted to, many times. Regressing.</p><p> </p><p>It disgusts her.</p><p> </p><p>She allows herself one last inhale - the scent of oud and clove filling her lungs, and she exhales it  out just as fast. She does not need to keep his familiarity. She just wanted to borrow it, for a moment. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Apply pressure.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When she opens the door, she does not walk back to her desk chair that has been collecting dust for the past month. She walks right past it, right past Kenny, and she doesn't open her mouth until she is halfway to the elevator. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm going to work from home today, I've decided." She calls over her shoulder, "But I will be back to meet you at five. We will go out."</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, you literally just got back from a month away!" </p><p> </p><p><em>I'm still away, </em>she thinks.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll be back at five, Kenny."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't turn around, and he doesn't call out after her again. The shitty Bossa Nova music welcomes her back into the small metal compartment, and she lets it take her <em>down, down, down</em>. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Needless to say, Villanelle does not work when she gets home.</p><p> </p><p>She rearranges her entire apartment. She applies pressure in the way she moves her bed from one corner of the room to the other, she applies force to the couch in her living room as she moves it away from the wall, she applies momentum when she rearranges all of the dish-ware in her cabinets. Where there is nothing left to apply pressure to, and she puts on another episode of the <em>Great British Baking Show</em>, she convinces herself that it is maintaining velocity.</p><p> </p><p>She figures velocity does not matter as much when she has lost all ability to measure time. When she was with Eve, she felt hyper-aware of it. It was blurry, and precious, and always fleeting - like somebody throwing sand int the air, and the sand catching in the light in a way that makes it look like little crystals. But when she is without Eve, time moves in fragments. Completely disjointed, and blurry, and shattering - like somebody throwing a glass bottle into the air, until it breaks on the cement.</p><p> </p><p>It's during this time warp that Elena texts her again.</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>V please let me know you're fine before I hop on a damn plane to London</em></p><p> </p><p>She stares at her phone, until she moves her fingers.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't know why she responds. Maybe because it gives her hands something to do, or maybe it is because it is a small way to make contact with Eve's world. A small something to remind her that the past month actually happened. Or maybe, it's because she likes Elena. A little bit. Enough to humor her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hi Elena, I am fine. Do you ever watch the Great British Baking Show? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It takes maybe one minute for Elena to text back.</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>omg yes!!! I love Mary Berry. Paul Hollywood looks like a human version of a Siberian husky, don't you think? I try to get Eve to watch to confirm this but she's a total grump</em></p><p> </p><p>Then, another:</p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>sorry for bringing up Eve?</em></p><p> </p><p>Elena: <em>idk where you're at with all of this. maybe I would know if you answered my FaceTimes!!</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Elena: it feels weird to talk about Paul Hollywood before talking about Eve</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She puts her phone away.</p><p> </p><p>Time moves, in the broken way it does, until the clock tells her its time to go meet Kenny.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle meets him back at the office at 5:00 PM. He is waiting outside, right on time like Kenny always is, and they approach each other wordlessly. She doesn't know why she expected to find comfort in this, because her and Kenny never do anything like this, but she figures they are currently comrades in the war of heartbreak. It will have to do.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods her head in the opposite direction, and they walk down the street - quietly, and in companionable silence. Villanelle hiccups occasionally, but Kenny doesn't comment.</p><p> </p><p>He's very quiet. It doesn't feel weird. She's grateful for that. </p><p> </p><p>She leads them into a nearby cocktail bar. She figures she will spare Kenny, for now, by not dragging him to a club. It is a very nice cocktail bar - a bougie spot tucked away in a borough of Soho - and it's very clean. The walls are various shades of pink, and white, and they play music like <em>Fleetwood Mac </em>and <em>Abba</em>. It is nothing like <em>Forbidden Fruit</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It's relatively quiet, the way bars are when most people aren't off work yet, and they take their drinks into a booth in the corner. They stare at each other silently for a while, and Villanelle sucks Gin through her straw as she looks around.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle," he breaks the silence, eyes falling heavily upon hers, "you are acting weird. Even by your standards."</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, leaning back against the booth, and sighing as she offers a truthful, "I know."</p><p> </p><p>"You know?"</p><p> </p><p>"I know. But I do not want to talk about it."</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's eyes widen at that, perplexed by her honesty, "Oh, er," he taps his fingers against his beer glass, "What do you want to talk about?"</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs, "Why did you and Audrey break up?"</p><p> </p><p>He shrinks a little bit in his seat. Maybe he does not want to talk about it, either.</p><p> </p><p>She thought it would make her feel better. The solidarity of heartbreak. But Kenny looks more like a lovesick puppy then anything, and it does nothing to make her feel better. </p><p> </p><p>"She didn't want to do long-distance," he admits, sighing wistfully, as he lets his eyes fall away from hers.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle considers this, with a slow nod. It makes sense. But Kenny doesn't seem to think so.</p><p> </p><p>"And you want that?" She asks, curiously, "You would do that?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure," Kenny shrugs, unconcerned, "For the right person."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>For the right person.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't know what to say to that. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny loses the shape of a lovesick puppy, in favor of taking on the shape of somebody unconcerned with restraints like time or distance. The new shape doesn't make her feel any better.</p><p> </p><p>She still doesn't know what to say.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm."</p><p> </p><p>Kenny stares at her.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, what happened in Franklin?"</p><p> </p><p>She swallows a hiccup with a small, sad smile.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>It's the truth. If he asked her a few days ago, she would tell him. She could say the words proudly. But, time takes away pride, and it takes away words. Time opens doors, and closes them. She imagines these things are all still in her body - confidence, resolve, pride - but they hide behind lock and key. She just has to find the right door, before she opens it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Apply pressure.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Oh," is what Kenny offers in response. It is probably the only thing he can offer.</p><p> </p><p>They sit in silence for a long time. They sip their drinks, and they sit in silence long enough until there are no more sips to be had. Kenny doesn't complain, but Villanelle knows what she's doing.</p><p> </p><p>She is sucking the energy from him, even if he would never dare say it. She has already been unfair once this week, she figures she should not do it again. Maybe, next week.</p><p> </p><p>"Kenny, you are not having a good time. It is fine, you can leave," she sighs, offering him a small smile, "I am fine, I promise."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm having a good time."</p><p> </p><p>It is a weak protest. It makes her smile a little wider.</p><p> </p><p>"No, you aren't."</p><p> </p><p>He waits a beat, and then confirms, "No, but I don't want to leave you alone."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm fine, Kenny. Seriously. I am going to stay, but you should go."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>"Promise?"</p><p> </p><p>"Kenny, stop with the shit questions, and just leave already."</p><p> </p><p>He smiles at that, nodding, "Glad to see you're still in there, somewhere."</p><p> </p><p>He stands up to grab his coat, before saying, "Thanks for asking me along, Villanelle. It's nice to.. spend time with you."</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms, "Maybe we can go do something more your speed next time. Dungeons and Dragons, or something."</p><p> </p><p>He laughs at that, "You would never play Dungeons and Dragons."</p><p> </p><p>"No, I wouldn't." She waves him off, "Bye, Kenny."</p><p> </p><p>He leaves, and she stays in the booth for a very long time. She watches the glass in her ice melt, and she watches out the window as the evening sucks the light away. She stays in the booth long after people filter in, groups of people who are probably entitled to said booth, but she doesn't move. She sits very still, like the broken arm of a clock, until somebody approaches her, and forces the arm to start moving.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tick, tick, tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hi," she looks up to see a pretty brunette woman staring down at her, "I was hoping I could sit with you."</p><p> </p><p>"Why?" </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Can't you see I'm miserable?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The woman cocks an eyebrow, looking around the quickly-filling bar, "Because you are one person taking up an entire booth." She laughs, quietly, "I'll buy you a drink."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay," Villanelle lets her eyes fall away from the window, makes her choice when she looks into the brown eyes of a woman she knows will serve as a passing of time, "Gin, please."</p><p> </p><p>"Gin." The woman confirms, before sticking her hand out, "I'm Maria."</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle," she replies, shaking her hand lazily. It doesn't sound right.</p><p> </p><p>Maria goes to the bar to get their drinks, and time passes.</p><p> </p><p>Time passes after she brings their drinks back to the table. Time passes when Villanelle gets the second round. Time passes when she finds a way to transform her hiccups into laughs, and time passes when Maria scoots over the other side of the bar and their thighs touch. Time passes when Villanelle lets her arm drape around her shoulders, and time passes when they leave. </p><p> </p><p>Time passes when they climb into an Uber, and head back to Villanelle's apartment. Time passes when they make their way inside, and they don't turn on the lights. Time passes when they shed their clothes, and time passes when Villanelle realizes she's grateful for the dark as she lets her hands roam the curves of Maria's body. </p><p> </p><p>It is interesting to feel something, when you can't really see it. She is all-too-aware of Maria's body in a physical sense, but not nearly a sexual one. Some part of her wants to open her mouth, to say:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It's interesting that you have one of these too. I can't feel mine right now.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Time passes as they exchange sloppy kisses, and time passes with Villanelle's head between Maria's thighs. Time passes until Maria's hand finds her way between Villanelle's legs, and then time stops. The ticking comes to a pause. A hiccup takes its place.</p><p> </p><p><em>Apply pressure</em>, she thinks, <em>persevere</em>. But the hiccups keep coming, and the clock stops ticking.</p><p> </p><p>She licks her lips in the darkness of the room, when she pulls away and says, "I'm sorry."</p><p> </p><p>She says it to Eve, but Maria is the one who hears it. </p><p> </p><p>"What?" Maria asks, breathlessly.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, but could you leave?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry."</p><p> </p><p><em>Hiccup</em>.</p><p> </p><p>A scoff. A rustling of the sheets. A gathering of clothes. The sound of footsteps retreating. They sound like <em>tick, tick, tick.</em> The sound of one door closing. The sound of another one opening - this one, inside her. A realization. Another hiccup. </p><p> </p><p>She lays alone in her bed, and she realizes that it only took one day - one lover who isn't Eve - to realize that her plan won't work. There is no use in trying to speed things up, and it is a sobering realization - one that leaves her with only one other option. To slow down. To let herself feel it.</p><p> </p><p>It's not absence, she realizes, and there's no use in measuring time in post-Eve standards, she also realizes. Eve is still with her. She feels Eve in the ticking of time, and she feels Eve in the emptiness of her bed. She feels Eve in hemline of her jeans that Maria only managed to get halfway off, and she feels Eve in the bruise on her lower lip.</p><p> </p><p>She hiccups, and she feels Eve in those too.</p><p> </p><p>It's worse, she thinks. It's much worse this way. It is yet another case of feeling the familiarity, but not being able to touch it. She hiccups, incessantly, and she thinks about going to see Eve. Jumping on a plane, and getting on her knees. She is not above begging.</p><p> </p><p>At the very least, maybe it would get rid of her hiccups.</p><p> </p><p>But she won't do that, because it is not for the right reasons. </p><p> </p><p>She pulls the covers tight around her shoulders, and she goes to sleep. She tucks away a night that felt like nothing more than a small blip in time. A fragment of glass, broken on the cement.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Time moves the same it always has, after this, with no regard to <em>Newton's second law</em>. </p><p> </p><p>A week passes, mercilessly, and she does not try to apply pressure to stop it from happening.</p><p> </p><p>She wakes up, she goes to work, she makes fun of Kenny, and she comes home to watch reruns of the <em>Great British Baking Show</em>. She does not try to distract herself with a full bed, and she does not try to distract herself in cocktail bars. In fact, she doesn't leave her house much.</p><p> </p><p>She texts Elena infrequently, about <em>Paul Hollywood </em>and <em>pastries</em>, and she stops texting Elena whenever the mention of Eve gets brought up.</p><p> </p><p>She still feels Eve in everything she does.</p><p> </p><p>She feels Eve in the way she starts saying <em>Hi </em>to Amber on her way into the office, she feels Eve in the way she orders take-out from the Italian restaurant down the street two nights in a row, and she feels Eve when she sits very quietly, doing nothing at all. She can not feel Eve's absence, because it does not exist - she can feel time and distance, maybe she can feel right and wrong, but not absence. It's worse.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's presence paired with the ticking of time allows her to feel a full-range of emotions.</p><p> </p><p>She goes from sad, to angry, to sick, to hopeful, back to sad. It's a vicious cycle, and it is one that involves typing out a lot of texts just to erase them. </p><p> </p><p>When she's hopeful, she types one out that reads:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Darling Eve, I hope you haven't forgotten about me! Xx</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When she's angry, she types another:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I should have never stepped foot in that bar.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When she's sad, her fingers produce the simplest one yet:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I can't stop thinking about you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She never hits <em>Send </em>on any of them, because she does not want to text Eve. She wants to see Eve. She wants to see Eve, all of the time. She thinks about getting on a plane, just to see her.</p><p> </p><p>She does not do that, because it is probably not for the right reasons.</p><p> </p><p>She is trying to be less selfish, but she doesn't understand how people do it. You are forced to live with yourself your entire life, so isn't everything a little selfish? </p><p> </p><p>Eve texts her, first. It happens somewhere in the middle of the week, she could not tell you the day because she does not know, but she nearly drops her phone when she goes to open it.</p><p> </p><p>It's a gif that involves a woman running into a tree on skis, and the text below it reads:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><span class="emoji">🍎</span>: Don't get it wrong. I'm still mad at you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She stares at it for most of the day. It's a stupid gif - one indicative of Eve's age, but it makes her heart beat a little faster every time she opens the thread. It places her in a feeling she recognizes, one that she felt before leaving Franklin, beating the sun before it rose. </p><p> </p><p>She uses that feeling, to finally shoot Eve a text that reads:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I hope you're well, Eve</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It's the truth, despite everything.</p><p> </p><p>It's the largest truth - one that makes the clock tick, and one that turns her breaths into hiccups - that she wants Eve to be happy, in ways that are separate from herself. It makes her sick. </p><p> </p><p>It makes Eve sick too, she thinks, when she gets a text back that reads:</p><p> </p><p><em><span class="emoji">🍎</span></em>: <em>Ha</em></p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next day, Villanelle does not get much work done. It is fine, because Kenny doesn't either. She is clicking her pen as she ignores e-mails, in favor of peering over Kenny's shoulder at this computer screen. She wishes she didn't when her eyes focus on the Reddit thread he is on:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How to navigate long-distance relationships.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I thought Audrey did not want to do long-distance," Villanelle inquires, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. </p><p> </p><p>He jumps a little, clicking out of the window, before crossing his arms. He slouches into his chair when he twirls around to face her, looking sheepish, "She doesn't."</p><p> </p><p>She quirks a brow, "That is desperate, Kenny."</p><p> </p><p>"I thought maybe if I garnered enough success stories, she might change her mind," he shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>He's wearing that sad puppy look, and Villanelle sighs. </p><p> </p><p>An idea forms in her head, and she can't believe she is actually considering it. </p><p> </p><p>If she is forced to face the shit hand of time and heartbreak, unable to help herself, maybe she can be a good Samaritan and help Kenny out a little.</p><p> </p><p>She has much catching up to do on the good Samaritan front. It is a start.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle plops back into her chair, letting her legs sprawl out, "Will you be visiting your evil mother in new her new castle any time soon?"</p><p> </p><p>Kenny snorts, "Yeah. She usually flies me out a week after she settles in."</p><p> </p><p>"Mama's boy," Villanelle chides, and Kenny pouts. </p><p> </p><p>"Why are you asking, Villanelle?"</p><p> </p><p>She holds her hand out, "I am going to give you a phone number."</p><p> </p><p>Kenny stares at her hand. He doesn't move to give her his phone.</p><p> </p><p>"The phone number of a woman, Kenny."</p><p> </p><p>"Who is it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Her name is Elena."</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's eyebrows narrow, "Who's Elena?"</p><p> </p><p>"She lives in Franklin. I met her when I was working on your mom's house. She is.. better than most people," Villanelle shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's eyes widen at that, "Wow. I don't know if I've ever heard you compliment anybody but yourself before."</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes, hand still outstretched, "Do you want her number or not?"</p><p> </p><p>He gives her the phone, and she enters her number before handing it back. A new contact that reads <em>Elena (don't blow it)</em>, and Kenny frowns at it. They don't say much after that.</p><p> </p><p>She has been indulging in silence a lot recently, and she could not tell you whether it makes the time go faster or slower. She probably could not give you a definition of time, at this point.</p><p> </p><p>They go back to working - one could call it that. If by working, one means Kenny sneakily pulling his Reddit thread back up, and Villanelle scrolling through e-mails without replying to a single one. Konstantin would have a field day, if they could see them.</p><p> </p><p>An hour later, because nothing makes sense and time doesn't account for coincidence, the elevators open and out steps Konstantin. He walks into view, holding a briefcase, in his oversized trench-coat. He sports a usual Konstantin look - one that allows her to know he's in a good mood, but doesn't indicate why. Whether it is because he closed a business deal, or spent a night with Carolyn, Villanelle can never tell.</p><p> </p><p>"Welcome back," Kenny offers, politely.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle says nothing, because she doesn't feel like being polite. She is not mad, either. She is indifferent. There is no desire to jump out of her chair into Konstantin's arms, because there is no desire, at all.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, Kenny," Konstantin smiles at him, before coming to stand in front of Villanelle's desk and letting his eyes fall upon her. </p><p> </p><p>He forgoes a <em>Hi </em>completely, in favor of saying, "Carolyn saw the house today."</p><p> </p><p>His expression remains one of satisfaction, but she doesn't care. Usually, she would attempt to pull more information out of him - a clawing at the feeling of triumph, or victory.</p><p> </p><p>"She is in Franklin?" Villanelle asks, wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," he smiles.</p><p> </p><p>Usually, her first question would be: <em>And what did she think, you shit?</em></p><p> </p><p>But currently, her first question rings along the lines of: <em>Can you ask her how Eve is?</em> </p><p> </p><p>It's nonsensical, because Carolyn does not know Eve. But everything is nonsensical. It is nonsensical that her first feeling is jealousy, rather than victory or triumph, from the obvious success Konstantin's smile is playing at. She wishes she was in Franklin.</p><p> </p><p>"She loves it. She sent me photos this morning." His smile grows, and he buries his hands into his pockets, "It is incredible. The best work I have seen in years. No offense, Kenny."</p><p> </p><p>"None taken," Kenny replies, with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>"You should be very proud of yourself, Villanelle. She loves it. <em>I </em>love it."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle gives him a tight-lipped smile, "Good."</p><p> </p><p>He frowns, "What?"</p><p> </p><p>"That is good, no?"</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle. You should be very proud of yourself. Your work was.. spectacular. You have outdone yourself."</p><p> </p><p>"Again, <em>good," </em>she shrugs, unsure what to offer him further. </p><p> </p><p>His mouth hangs a little slack-jawed, and she lets her eyes fall back on her computer screen. </p><p> </p><p>"What is up with you?"</p><p> </p><p>"She's been like this all week," Kenny supplies.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle guffaws. She throws her pen at Kenny's chest.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey!" Kenny yells, rubbing at his chest as if she threw a dagger at it, "It's true."</p><p> </p><p>She sulks further into her chair. Konstantin scratches his chin. </p><p> </p><p>"Gather your things," he lets his hand fall away from his face, "We are leaving."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scrunches her brow, "Where are we going?"</p><p> </p><p>"To my house. You are not fit to be working right now." Konstantin nods, tapping his knuckles on her desk, "Come on. Let's go."</p><p> </p><p>"Who are you to decide whether I should be working right now?" Villanelle scoffs, she doesn't move, "What if I want to work right now?"</p><p> </p><p>"Tough shit," Konstantin shrugs, moving away from her desk in favor of walking towards the elevator, "I am your boss, and I am calling you off."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle groans.</p><p> </p><p>She sits for another moment, before grabbing her bag off her desk, and following Konstantin to the elevator. Not before she flips Kenny off behind his back.</p><p> </p><p>Kenny frowns.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She sits in Konstantin's passenger seat, while they ride back to his house. He is playing his usual country music, and silence fills in the blanks where she would usually chastise it. She does not have the energy, today. She resorts to flipping the handle of his glovebox, to pass the time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Click. Click. Click.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Stop that."</p><p> </p><p>"It sounds better than your shit music," Villanelle bites back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Click. Click. Click.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't say anything the rest of the ride. </p><p> </p><p>When they enter into his home, he instructs her to go to the living room. <em>We will watch a movie</em>, Konstantin says, <em>but I am choosing it</em>. She groans. It is a day full of losses.</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin has shit taste in movies.</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin busies himself making popcorn and drinks in the kitchen, and Villanelle starts perusing through Netflix. She makes it half-way through the comedy section when Konstantin reappears. He swipes the remote out of her hand, replacing it with a wine glass, before clicking out of the app completely.</p><p> </p><p>She frowns.</p><p> </p><p>He shoves a fist of popcorn into his mouth, grunting, before going over to his DVD collection and picking up the case of a movie she doesn't recognize. She doesn't argue it, because she doesn't have the energy, so she waits. She notices how quiet the house seems. It is probably because Irina is not around. It still feels weird. Everything does.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls a DVD from a case she doesn't recognize, before inserting it into the BluRay player. He clicks on the remote a few times, the only sound echoing in the room aside from his aggressive chewing, and he sits back on the couch when the title screen appears.</p><p> </p><p><em>Good Will Hunting. </em>She has never heard of it, but she is not optimistic.</p><p> </p><p>Again, Konstantin has shit taste in movies. This is why she never lets him choose them.</p><p> </p><p>They do not get to do this often. He is too busy, with Irina and work, and she isn't desperate enough to settle for rewatches of <em>Scarface </em>or <em>The Godfather</em>. She does not feel desperate for distraction tonight, but she does not have the energy to argue with him.</p><p> </p><p>"This is a good one. You will like it," Konstantin kicks his feet up on the ottoman, before taking a sip of his vodka.</p><p> </p><p>"Mm, you always say this," she sighs, but she does not argue. She is not arguing, tonight.</p><p> </p><p>So, she prepares to sit through two hours of mobster blood-shed. </p><p> </p><p>That is not what she is getting, she realizes as much, half-way through when Matt Damon has not yet killed his therapist. </p><p> </p><p>The popcorn sits untouched between them. Konstantin sips at this vodka, and Villanelle takes small sips of her wine. The stretch of silence taking place between them is unfamiliar. Konstantin is always quiet during movies, sure, but it is unlike him to not fill the silence with open-mouth chewing, or chastising Villanelle for her crude remarks. She realizes that his silence must be because of the latter, as she has not spoken since the first scene rolled, but the untouched popcorn sitting between them is surprising. </p><p> </p><p>It isn't until Matt Damon starts crying on-screen, while his therapist tells him it's not his fault, that her mouth parts. Her eyes blur with a wet film, unexpected and unwelcome, and her words come out in barely a whisper when she asks, "Why are we watching this, Konstantin?"</p><p> </p><p>"It is a good movie," Konstantin replies, succinctly, moving the glass in hands slightly until the glass clinks against it.</p><p> </p><p>"Bullshit," she replies, a watery laugh - watery like the ice melting in his glass.</p><p> </p><p>"Just watch, Villanelle. We can talk about it after."</p><p> </p><p>So, she does. She listens. Another unfamiliar thing - her listening to Konstantin. She watches. She watches as Matt Damon cries in his therapist's arms, watches as he turns down the job to go to California, watches as he leaves his friends wordlessly to chase after a girl. She watches as he uproots his entire life to risk something on a woman that might not even take him back.</p><p> </p><p>When she is done watching, and the credits roll, her cheeks are wet. She doesn't know why. Maybe it because her body was prepared for something violet, but was instead given something shitty and sad. When she turns to Konstantin to ask, she finds him sporting a small, sympathetic smile.</p><p> </p><p>"Why did we watch that?" </p><p> </p><p>"Because it is a good movie."</p><p> </p><p>"It is a shit movie, Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>"You're crying."</p><p> </p><p>"Because it was so stupid."</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin chuckles lowly, leaning forward, and setting his glass on the table, "So, these are stupid tears then, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle keeps her eyes fixed forward. The credits are rolling on the screen, and she can feel Konstantin's eyes burning holes into her profile. A couple more silent, <em>stupid </em>tears escape before she whips her head around to meet his gaze head-on, "<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"It was a good movie. C'mon, admit it. It is a classic!"</p><p> </p><p>She wipes away some of the tears from her face. It was a stupid movie. She doesn't understand why people make movies like this. Movies are supposed to be a form of escape, something to make people feel good. </p><p> </p><p>If she wanted to watch a movie about an unloved child growing into a fucked up adult, then she would just tap into her own memories. She has no idea why Konstantin would choose this.</p><p> </p><p><em>Ah</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The realization sinks her shoulders, makes her shake her head. She exhales through her nose, wiping away some of her tears, before picking up her drink. <em>Checkmate, Konstantin.</em></p><p> </p><p>"I know what you're trying to do," she mumbles into her wine glass.</p><p> </p><p>"And what is that?" He asks, curiously, and it makes her want to punch him. </p><p> </p><p>"You put on this movie in hopes that I will have an <em>aha </em>moment. I will understand that I am ugly Matt Damon, and suddenly, I will feel an inclination to solve all of my problems."</p><p> </p><p>"Ha!" Konstantin cackles, scratching his beard, "I do not think you are Matt Damon. I think he is much more well-adjusted than you."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth falls agape, and she pulls one of the pillows from behind her back to throw it at Konstantin's red face. He always gets a little red when he drinks. It is unbecoming.</p><p> </p><p>"I am kidding, Villanelle." He sighs, and it sounds like some sort of defeat when he realizes he is unable to even get a laugh out of her, "I do not think you are Matt Damon. But I do think you share something in common with him."</p><p> </p><p>She narrows her eyes at him. She did not sign up for a journey down the yellow brick road of her character, tonight. She signed up for something easy - something that would not involve argument. She fixes him with a blood-shot stare that communicates: <em>Whatever it is you are about to say, I do not want to hear it.</em></p><p> </p><p>He does not listen, because apparently, he has a death wish, "You have abandonment issues, Villanelle." </p><p> </p><p>Her mouth falls open, at that. Her eyes widen, and then they narrow - the way one's expression might change after getting hit with a foul ball from left field, before their body processes the pain. She does not have the energy for this tonight. She does not have the energy to berate him, or defend herself, or do anything that could possibly make herself feel better about this situation. He <em>knows </em>this. He knows what he is doing, and she knows what he is doing. Striking when she is weak. It's a weak move. A betrayal, really, and so she will not be partaking in shoving a knife into her own back. </p><p> </p><p>She laughs, once, coldly, while she tries to figure out what words to leave him with.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>or:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Seriously, fuck you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Nope</em>." That is what she settles on, shaking her head and setting her wine glass on the ground, as she moves to stand up from the couch. "No way."</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p> </p><p>"Leaving," she laughs, again, as she reaches for her bag.</p><p> </p><p>"Where are you going?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know. But I am getting the <em>fuck </em>out of here."</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, <em>sit down," </em>he commands from a sitting position. He does not stand up. He just sits there calmly, with his hands interlaced in his lap, and it makes her angrier.</p><p> </p><p>A calm breeze against her choppy waters.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Why</em>, Konstantin?" She slips her bag onto her shoulder, and her voice remains even, somehow, "Why should I <em>sit </em>down, hm? So you can armchair diagnose me?"</p><p> </p><p>She laughs, and her voice grows a little louder, "That is what you are trying to do, aren't you?"</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin sits there, solemnly, and he shakes his head. It makes her mad. If he is going to hit her where it hurts, he might as well do it with some gusto. She lets her hands fall to her sides, clenches her fists. Whatever energy wasn't there to begin with, the man's weak display of energy is mustering it. <em>Coward</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"If I am Matt Damon, then who are you?" Her voice claws from her throat at a steadily increasing volume, an avalanche falling from her lips; starting slowly and gaining momentum as it falls, "You want to play at being the therapist who <em>saves </em>me? Is that what it is? So you can feel better about yourself? <em>Abandonment issues</em>?" She scoffs, "I mean, <em>seriously</em>, Konstantin. Where the fuck did that come from?"</p><p> </p><p>"I am not trying to save you, Villanelle," he offers his palms upwards, like a surrender, and his voice is stern and quiet against her loud energy, "I am just trying to <em>talk </em>to you."</p><p> </p><p>She laughs - it sounds like a yell, "Talk? Sure, Konstantin. I have been talking for over twenty years, and guess what - it does not solve anything!" She clenches her fist tighter, prays for blood under her fingertips, "Talking will not <em>fix </em>me, because this is not a <em>fucking </em>movie!"</p><p> </p><p>"You are right."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Her chest heaves, in and out, like drawing a sword only to sheath it, and drawing a sword again, to sheath it once more. Konstantin makes no move to draw his weapon - if the even breathing of his chest is any indicator. She usually would make no move to fight a defenseless person, but anger is seeping into all the places it has been absent for the last few days. It feels welcome.</p><p> </p><p>"This is not a movie, Villanelle, and I am not trying to diagnose you. This is real life, and I am trying to understand what has happened. Unfortunately, I am not a mind-reader." He sighs, gesturing to the empty couch next to him, "So, why don't you sit down and tell me?"</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't move from her position. She stands above him, desperate for power, with clenched fists. </p><p> </p><p>"What do you have to lose?"</p><p> </p><p>The words cause her shoulders to recoil a bit, because it suddenly makes sense.</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin never had to make a show of presenting his weapon, because it has been poison the whole time. Slow, and deadly, and seeping into Villanelle's skin with  five words. She can not use her sword against it, and she can not argue it, because there is no argument to be had.</p><p> </p><p>She has nothing left to lose. Not her pride, not her heart, not <em>Eve</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Sit down, rybka. Please, talk to me."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't move.</p><p> </p><p>If poison is his weapon, maybe stillness can be hers. Playing dead. Hero's death.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle," Konstantin sighs, and it sounds like a plead, as he runs his hands over his face, "Listen. I have something I want to tell you, but I would like to hear about this Eve first."</p><p> </p><p>Her eyebrow quirks, only slightly. Perhaps, that is Konstantin's last-ditch effort. An effort to sit Villanelle down in hopes she'll be curious enough to hear what he has to say, but she does not feel curious. Not after hearing Eve's name fall from his lips. She just feels.. overcome. Her body doesn't feel like a thing of resilience - no, it feels like an aching thing, begging to be put down somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>She puts it back on the couch, slowly, and it feels a akin to a white flag raising half-mast. The tears fall from her eyes, quietly, before her words do - clear blood seeping out of her body, with no entry wound. Because poison does not leave one. Konstantin is playing dirty. He always has.</p><p> </p><p>"Tell me about Eve," he says, as he turns his body to face hers.</p><p> </p><p>She crosses her arms, bites the inside of her cheek; manages a very sincere, "Fuck you."</p><p> </p><p>"Sure." He shrugs, "Tell me about her, anyways."</p><p> </p><p>"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes."</p><p> </p><p>She whips her head around to look at him, her anger flying like the hair around her face, and her lip twitches when their eyes meet. He looks at her with silent eyes - big, and attentive, and welcoming. They are another weapon, she knows it. </p><p> </p><p>"Why do you care about Eve?" </p><p> </p><p>It is funny how a certain name falling off your lips can reduce you. She says Eve's name, and she feels a little less angry. Still angry, but more sad. Saying Eve's name pacifies her, to a certain extent.</p><p> </p><p>"Because I care about you, and she has affected you. I can tell."</p><p> </p><p>She laughs, quietly, "That does not mean I need to talk about it."</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe," Konstantin shrugs, "But have you tried?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets her eyes fix on the ceiling.</p><p> </p><p>"Have you talked about it to anyone?"</p><p> </p><p>The ceiling is a nice place to look.</p><p> </p><p>"What do you have to lose, Villanelle?"</p><p> </p><p>She closes her eyes. She closes them for a long time, hopes that she will be met with a different expression when she opens them. But she does open them eventually, and she is met with the same concerned, attentive expression that Konstantin is sporting. It makes her sick. She wonders if she could ask him to close them. She doesn't ask, because she is not weak, and so they remain a big and consuming shape. They suck the words right out of her.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know where to start," Villanelle chokes out, her throat thick with words unspoken.</p><p> </p><p>"Tell me everything, rybka."</p><p> </p><p>"Stop calling me that," she bites out.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay."</p><p> </p><p>And then, she tells him. Everything.</p><p> </p><p>She does. She doesn't mean to. But once the words stop coming, they don't stop. Words are like hiccups, in that way.</p><p> </p><p>She tells him about arriving in Franklin. She tells him about wanting to fuck Stephanie, over sips of sickly sweet wine, until she didn't anymore. She tells him about the first time she saw Eve, and how the world reduced from a rotating orb to something very still. She tells him about the way she saw Eve every day after that; how it simultaneously felt like an act of penance, and getting rewarded for cheating on a test.</p><p> </p><p>She tells him about the resort - how the snow made her cold, but it was Eve's warmth that made her sick. She tells him how Eve is a force of nature, but she settles into the places the Earth carves out for her, and that makes her sick, too. She tells him about kissing Eve, and how she thought about the Bible, and fucking Eve, and how she thought it felt like losing. She tells him about Elena, and Hugo - two mundane characters smushed into an extraordinary sequence of events. She tells him about the last time she saw Eve, and leaving. She tells him about how the last time she saw Eve, it feels like the last time she saw the entirety of herself, too.</p><p> </p><p>She tells him everything. She tells him all the things that one person should never say to another, and she tells him all the minute details that one person should not be bothered to hear from another's lips. It's the only way she can. </p><p> </p><p>It takes her almost two hours.</p><p> </p><p>When she finally finishes, a stretch of silence takes place between them. It is outlined by Villanelle's hiccups, and the subtle scratching noise of Konstantin's big fingers against his beard.</p><p> </p><p>"Is it like Anna?" He asks, looking at her closely, before letting his hand fall away from his face.</p><p> </p><p>"No," she laughs, quiet and wet, "It is much worse."</p><p> </p><p>"Why is that?"</p><p> </p><p>She stares at him, doe-eyed. She feels like she should not have to explain this part, or maybe, she feels like she has no way to explain this part. Konstantin never saw the unfolding of Anna, but he did see the aftermath, and that make her want to shake him by the shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>Anna was bad, because Anna left her.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is worse, because Villanelle <em>had </em>to leave her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Does that make sense?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her thought process wraps a lasso around her brain, until it squeezes out the the only words she can manage, "I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>"Because you love Eve?"</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't answer. The hiccup that escapes her throat says <em>Very much</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"You did not love Anna, though, even if you thought you did."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't answer. The lack of hiccup in response says, <em>I did not</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Your fears remain the same though. With Eve, they are just.. exasperated."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyebrows draw together. </p><p> </p><p>"You were obsessed with Anna, but I think you found comfort in the fact that you knew she would never actually be with you. Even if you did not.. name it as such."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's mouth parts at that because, <em>No</em>. She definitely wanted to be with Anna.</p><p> </p><p>"Am I wrong, Villanelle? Did you ever think Anna would actually leave her husband?"</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin's eyes probe her, in a gentle kind of way. Like he is coaxing along a thought process that he didn't come up with, like he pulled a string of thoughts out of her head and he is presenting it to her with open hands. It's absurd.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle guffaws, "I wanted her to. I <em>begged </em>her to."</p><p> </p><p>"Of course you did, but did you actually think she would?"</p><p> </p><p>Silence. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't know if she ever thought Anna would actually leave her husband. But she still wanted it, even if she knew she could never have it.</p><p> </p><p>"But with Eve, there is a real possibility, no? That you two could be together? But you left."</p><p> </p><p>She's not following. Maybe, she does not want to follow. Maybe Konstantin is trying to open a door to a place within herself that she hasn't dare opened, let alone disturbed the quiet with a knock. If that is the door he is trying to go through, she does not want to follow.</p><p> </p><p>"You're scared of being abandoned, Villanelle." He says, carefully, allows a pause for her to process it, "Maybe you were so obsessed with chasing Anna because you knew there was no chance that you would ever actually end up together. With Eve, there is a chance of that. That is why you left, no?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares at him, face tense and perplexed, because there is no other way for it to be.</p><p> </p><p>"I left <em>for </em>her!" Villanelle half-yells, words rounded out by a confused anger, "What are you not understanding?"</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin scratches his beard, the sound makes her skin itchy, "I believe that you <em>think </em>that is why you left, but I do not think that is why you left."</p><p> </p><p>He allows a moment of silence. Villanelle does too. It doesn't clear the confusion.</p><p> </p><p>He continues, "That, or maybe this Eve has rubbed off on you. You said she had a habit of accepting things, no? She stayed with her husband for ten years, even if she did not love him.. in that way."</p><p> </p><p>"Thirteen," Villanelle corrects.</p><p> </p><p>"You get my point, though, no?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not at all," she scoffs, "You are making very little sense. It's actually very annoying."</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe you left because you are trying to accept things, like this Eve woman. But that is very unlike you. Maybe you have turned a new leaf? Who am I to say?"</p><p> </p><p>She averts her eyes. Her leaf doesn't feel overturned. It feels stale and brittle, in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't have to say anything for Konstantin to understand. When he does, he nods slowly. </p><p> </p><p>"Or maybe you left, because you are scared of being left. You were probably scared that there was a chance you would wake up in the morning and Eve might say:<em> hey, lets give this a shot.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses to laugh, "Eve would not say that."</p><p> </p><p>"You don't know that, do you? You took away her ability to say much of anything, by leaving." Konstantin relays it calmly, and Villanelle clenches her fists, because only Konstantin could turn something selfless into something selfish, "But you left because maybe you did not want to hear her say this."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle just continues to stare at him, with parted lips and wide eyes. Her anger is often loud, red and boisterous. But sometimes, when she is very angry, it is white and silent. Like a flag of surrender begging to be torn to shreds. </p><p> </p><p>Konstantin shreds it when he says, "You are terrified of being abandoned, Villanelle. And you know what? It makes complete sense."</p><p> </p><p>His eyes maintain that clearness - so clear, that Villanelle can see the devastation floating around in them. She can see it curling the corners of his thin lips into a tiny frown. She sees mentions of her mother in the creases in his forehead, and she finds his apologies for her fathers death in the wrinkle of his brow. It makes her unbelievably mad. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't know how to process any of it. She has spent the last week feeling completely out of touch with her body. She suddenly feels sucked back inside of it - like a dust bunny into a vacuum. She does not know how to handle it.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe, it is something she is too weak to handle.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle gets up, then, with a muttered, "I'm done with this shit."</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, sit down!"</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't answer. She grabs her bag off the couch, and she swallows the hiccups that bubble up in her throat. She swallows the tears too, the blood. He doesn't get to see those, any more.</p><p> </p><p>"Please, Villanelle." His arms outstretch in front of him, desperate and clunky, and he sighs before adding, "I have something that I want to tell you."</p><p> </p><p>"I don't want to hear <em>anything </em>else you have to say, Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>He runs his hands over his face, like he always does when he's angry. It leaves him looking red, like a juicy tomato. Red, the color of tomatoes. She wonders if Konstantin were to pop, if his blood would taste like tomato juice. She likes the idea of it - tasting his blood, the way he has tasted hers after forcing her to rip her chest open.</p><p> </p><p>"That is fine." He pleads, and she likes the sound of it, his pleading, "Just let me say this one thing, and if you want to leave after that, then you are free to do so." </p><p> </p><p>She should prove her point to him by walking out the door. Maybe even by quitting her job, maybe by citing <em>Vasiliev Industries</em>as a toxic workplace. She doesn't move. She doesn't know why. </p><p> </p><p>"It is not about Eve, okay? I promise." He pleads, in a vague way, and it makes her curious, curious enough to not move, but not curious enough to plop back on the couch, "<em>Please </em>sit down."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't move. She is getting very good at this. Maybe she will quit her job as an Interior Designer, and make money as a street performer posing as a living statue.</p><p> </p><p>"I want to tell you about you for a second, okay?"</p><p> </p><p>Her brows knit together. She does not need to be told about herself. She knows who she is. She knows why she leaves certain doors unopened, and why some corners collect dust. She knows who she is. She doesn't need Konstantin to place her.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't need anything. Her brain <em>knows</em> this. </p><p> </p><p>Her body doesn't, apparently, because it sits down very slowly - very apprehensively. Her body sits down in a way that says, <em>One wrong word and I'll put my hands around your throat</em>. She sits down, and she wonders what her body knows that her brain doesn't. She hiccups. She notices the feeling of tears stinging her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>When she looks at Konstantin, she realizes tears sting Konstantin's too. Clear blood. </p><p> </p><p>An eye for an eye. That's better, at least.</p><p> </p><p>He starts slowly, "I am so proud of you. I love you."</p><p> </p><p>Her brain says, <em>Run!</em></p><p> </p><p>Her body says, <em>Hiccup.</em></p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. I love you more than this house. I designed it, remember? It does not matter. I love you more than Vasiliev Industries, or design, even." He pauses, to inhale a deep breath, like a bear waking from slumber, "I love you as much as I love Irina. You're one of the best things that has ever happened to me, to the Industry and to the future, and probably to Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"You said you would not bring up Eve," she warns him, like her brain warns her.</p><p> </p><p>Her brain warns her, <em>Run, you won't recover from this one!</em> </p><p> </p><p>Her body says, <em>Hiccup</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Her body wins. It responds with bubbles in her throat, and stillness in her spine. Her body responds with knit brows, and more tears, and a nauseous stomach. Her body responds completely, and not at all.</p><p> </p><p>"You know, I try to be angry at you, I try to discipline you. I try to talk sense into you, to let yourself feel closeness. And I fail." Konstantin's tears fall from his eyes, and she watches the clear trail they trek over his red cheeks, "And I fail because I love you."</p><p> </p><p>Her brain throws then towel in, with a <em>You'll regret this.</em></p><p> </p><p>Her body shrinks into the couch cushions. She recoils, at the touch of Konstantin's love - massive and non-ignorable, like his hands or his laugh. It singes the lining of her stomach, and she feels like she might be sick. When she hiccups again, and no bile crawls up her throat, she feels grateful. It is something.</p><p> </p><p>"You are more powerful than any other person because of what you have in here." He lays his hand over his heart, a huge land laid upon an old body, an old, aching chest, "You're so different. You have something stronger. You should be proud. But you're not. You act like it, sure, but you are not proud, in love or vulnerability. Because you do not let yourself feel these things."</p><p> </p><p>"I love you so much, and you know what is funny?" He laughs, a real <em>hyuck </em>and a little bit of spit flies from his mouth as he does so, "You love me, too. But six years, you have never told me. It is fine. I am not reprimanding you, I am just saying it. I know you love me, because I can feel it, but six years and you have never said it once."</p><p> </p><p>Her brain goes quiet. Her body doesn't respond, because it doesn't know how. Her face remains unchanging - she can feel it, flesh to stone - and tears wetting the stone. It is the only movement on her body. She feels something gurgling in her stomach - remorse, guilt, hopelessness, the acid in her stomach swirling in a way that says, <em>It's too late, you can never change.</em></p><p> </p><p>She hiccups, and it feels more like a convulsion. Konstantin watches her with a resolute mouth, and and unyielding eyes. He continues.</p><p> </p><p>"You are terrified of being loved, Villanelle." He pauses, and his lips stretch into a tight-lipped smile, <em>not a smile, actually</em>, but something like it, "Because everybody that has loved you has hurt you. I do not blame you."</p><p> </p><p>Her lib wobbles. A movement. A crack in the stone. The kind of stone somebody picks up on a beach, and wonders how long the stone must have been sitting there before it got cracked. The kind of stone that somebody doesn't consider was formed with a crack, all along. The kind of crack that allows the gunk to get through. Sand, or tears.</p><p> </p><p>This time, it's tears.</p><p> </p><p>She cries, in the ugly way. The kind of cry that would make somebody stop talking to prevent it form getting uglier. But it's the kind of cry that seems to motivate Konstantin, to let him know that he's getting through to her, so he continues. It's very fucked up.</p><p> </p><p>"You know what the worse part is?" Konstantin laughs, it's more of a gurgle, because his tears match hers, "There is no way to avoid it. To be loved is to be hurt. To love, is to hurt. It is a painful cycle we put ourselves through."</p><p> </p><p>"Stop."</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe because we are stupid, sure, I am sure that is what you think. This is why you feel above it, why you avoid it at all costs. Or maybe, it is because we know it is worth it. We don't get to decide who we love, but we do get to decide how we go about it. You are the one who told me this. With Carolyn, remember?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Stop</em>."</p><p> </p><p>He reaches out his big hand, and she eyes it suspiciously - a blurry movement through tear-filled eyes. When he rests it on her shoulder, big and weighty, it sobers her. She swats it away.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Stop</em>!" She's yelling now, and the tears flow harder, "I am telling you to stop! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Villanelle</em>," he says her name, like a hungry man begging for bread.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you ever stop to think, in your <em>shit </em>little brain, that maybe it isn't so complicated?" She yells louder and louder, and her eyes get wetter and wetter, "That maybe it's actually very simple! Some people are just <em>not </em>lovable, Konstantin! It's actually very easy to understand! Why does it have to be more complicated than that?"</p><p> </p><p>The stone cracks, in a thousand little pieces. Each piece spells out a different name - one fragment holds her mother, another her father, Anna's name on another shard, and Eve's, the biggest of all. The stone cracks, and it sounds like a scream, when it erupts from her throat,</p><p> </p><p>"I am not cut out for that kind of life, Konstantin! It was decided when I was born!"</p><p> </p><p>He stares at her with clear eyes, ones that lack comfort.</p><p> </p><p>They feel belittling. Reminiscent of a middle-school bully who says, <em>I know something you don't know</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, that's not true."</p><p> </p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>!" </p><p> </p><p>"You are lovable."</p><p> </p><p>"Stop lying!" Her scream catches in her throat this time, and it dissolves into something a little weaker, she inhales a shaky breath, and the screaming turns to begging, "Stop lying, Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>She lets her head falls into her hands, and she trembles. Maybe with anger, it is definitely there, but it is not the driving force. It feels like a mass - one that her body is too small to hold. Konstantin's words are the force accelerating it, letting it grow bigger. <em>Newton's second law</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"You do not love yourself, Villanelle. I wish you could, but I can not make that happen. But that does not mean you have to deny yourself the ability to feel love, while you figure it out."</p><p> </p><p>The mass grows bigger. It's gonna break her spine. Konstantin couldn't care less. It's sadistic. Sick, really.</p><p> </p><p>"I love you. That means you are lovable. How is that lying?"</p><p> </p><p>The mass weighs on her, until it squeezes out a release. She cries into her hands, heavily and ugly, until she can feel snot in her palms and drool on her wrist. Konstantin's hands find her shoulder, and it feels like a different kind of mass, but she allows it when he pulls her into him. She cries into his shirt, and she thinks it feels better this way. It is payback - ruining his shirt with her fluids, rather than her own skin. She gets her revenge, until his shirt is completely soaked, and he allows it the entire time with whispers of <em>It'll be okay, rybka</em>, and <em>let it out, Villanelle, you never let it out</em>. </p><p> </p><p>It took her two hours to tell him about Eve, and it took her two hours to cry about Eve. </p><p> </p><p>There is beauty in symmetry. It balances the equation. It plays at something egalitarian. </p><p> </p><p>When the equation feels more balanced, and lightness feels proportionate to heaviness, she speaks, "Earlier, you said it is a choice." She hiccups, as she separates himself from his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes sting, and she wipes her nose on the back of her hand, as she looks at him. He searches her face calmly, so she clarifies, "You do not think it is fate?"</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin's brows scrunch, before he releases a booming laugh. It makes her jump a little bit. She scowls, and he laughs again, "Fate? Who said anything about fate?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thinks of Elena.</p><p> </p><p>She suddenly feels stupid; childish. But it is not stupid. It is reasonable. </p><p> </p><p>She has spent time thinking about how large coincidences can become, and how small reason can shrink, and it all makes sense. What are the chances she ends up in Franklin, Pennsylvania at the very same time Eve ends up there? It is too big of an equation to apply coincidence. An equation that involves her and Eve needs a grandiose answer - one that echoes something predestined, something that involves the stars. She looks at Konstantin, blankly.</p><p> </p><p>He finally stops laughing, when he notices the sincerity of her eyes. He purses his lips, in attempt to be serious, and he shakes his head, "No, Villanelle. I do not think it is.. <em>fate</em>. I think it something much more dangerous than that. Something that scares the shit out of you."</p><p> </p><p>She scrunches her nose, "What is that?"</p><p> </p><p>"A choice, Villanelle," he relays, patting her back, "It is a choice."</p><p> </p><p>She hiccups.</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin stays with her until the hiccups subside, and her eyes grow heavy. He leaves her then, to grab her a blanket and a glass of water, and he kisses her hair before leaving. It remains unspoken that she is not going home tonight, so she curls up on the couch.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about fate, and choice. </p><p> </p><p>Fate is allowing control to be taken from you. It is allowing another force to make things come together if they are meant to be. Fate is an art, but the kind you make by letting somebody else hold the paintbrush. </p><p> </p><p>Choice is taking control. It is choosing to come together, even if it is not meant to be. Choice is losing, but it a loss you paint with your own hands. </p><p> </p><p>Fate is selfless, because it does not involve the self.</p><p> </p><p>Choice is selfish, because it has to involve the self. </p><p> </p><p>She considers both of these things when she finds herself thinking about wanting to jump on a plane to see Eve again. It's because she wants to tell her she loves her, even if Eve does not love her back. It is selfish because she wants her to know, but it is selfless because she does not need to have to Eve's love, if Eve does not want to give it. </p><p> </p><p>What is stopping her from getting on a plane then? If the line blurs between selfish and selfless? If it is selfish to tell Eve she loves her, and selfless to tell Eve she loves her, what is she supposed to do then?</p><p> </p><p>Her body loses the fight, shortly after she connects the dots. They aren't dots, though. It is a blurred line. Love is right and wrong, selfish and selfless. It can't be any other way.</p><p> </p><p>When she checks her phone to look at the time, 2:01 A.M, she sees a text from Elena:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Elena: who's Kenny???</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She goes to sleep.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>Newton's third law of motion states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She Googles this one at her work desk, the next day. She wasn't even sure there was a third law, if she's being honest. She doesn't really care. She has been at work for roughly three hours, after Ubering from Konstantin's because he had a conference, and she has spent the time lingering in a resigned realm. Her body and brain aren't arguing. She does not feel a need to distract herself, and she does not feel a need to think harder than she has to. It's all becoming very simple.</p><p> </p><p>She wants to see Eve, because she wants to tell Eve she loves her.</p><p> </p><p>Kenny laughs, quietly, at his phone off to the side of her, and she briefly wonders what he's doing. Maybe he's texting Elena. His indifference to her current revelation doesn't bother, because she can feel it all around her. The office feels heavy with conclusions, surrender, death and rebirth. It feels heavy with <em>choice</em>. </p><p> </p><p>She lets her eyes fall off the first example of Newton's third law, it is an image of an apple falling off of a tree, and hitting some Colonial man (presumably, Newton) in the head. She relates.</p><p> </p><p>If an apple falls from a tree, it bounces off the ground.</p><p> </p><p>If you push against a wall, the wall will push back.</p><p> </p><p>If you try to embody stillness, time will still move.</p><p> </p><p>If you tell somebody you love them, they could tell you they hate you, in the same breath.</p><p> </p><p>One truth rings out, above all, though: <em>If you don't act, there is no possibility for a reaction.</em></p><p> </p><p>She leans back in her chair, clicking the tip of her pen in a haze, and she speaks to Kenny the way she speaks to herself, "Kenny, do you know how the Bible ends?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>He pulls his head away from his phone, in favor of staring at her in disbelief. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you know what happens on the last page of the Bible?" </p><p> </p><p>She asks again, her words lacking any real commitment, because she is not committed. Truthfully, it does not matter how the Bible ends. It will not change the choice she makes, but she is just curious. She is curious about dotting her I's and crossing her T's, and she is curious about no longer trying to fight the battle of time. So, she asks, not committed, and just curious.</p><p> </p><p>"No."</p><p> </p><p>Right, Carolyn is an atheist. Kenny has probably never even been to Church.</p><p> </p><p>"Can you Google it for me, please?"</p><p> </p><p>He does. It is a choice.</p><p> </p><p>She waits, patiently. Also, a choice.</p><p> </p><p>There's a few clicks and scrolls, some quiet reading, before Kenny speaks, "Revelation 22. Eden is restored, and John gets to see it."</p><p> </p><p>"Who's John?"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you serious?"</p><p> </p><p>"I do not care about John." She remembers seeing his name in the Bible in her hotel room, but she never paid it much attention, "He gets to see Eden? Did Eve ever get to go back?"</p><p> </p><p>Kenny's eyebrows knit together, like he wants to say <em>No</em>, but he can't be sure. He does a little more typing, and she waits, again. She is fine with waiting, now. It is a symptom of time.</p><p> </p><p>"No, her and Adam were never allowed to return." He says, slowly, obviously confused as to why he's even relaying this information, "They were forced to spend their remaining time on Earth."</p><p> </p><p>"Together?"</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, yeah. They had kids, and stuff."</p><p> </p><p>"But they never got to go back to the Garden?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, they were banished. To suffer on Earth, forever."</p><p> </p><p>"Together, though?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," he hesitates, and his voice lingers somewhere between worried and confused, "together."</p><p> </p><p>"Mm."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle looks around the office. It's a beautiful sunny day in London. There is something special about London sunshine - perhaps, because it is rare enough to be cherished. In a mundane way. Like meeting a stranger with your birthday, or seeing a shooting star when you look at the sky for a little too long. It pools in through the glass on the top floor, and it casts holographic shadows onto her desk. It makes the office look serene and ethereal, maybe like the Garden of Eden. It is very beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>She frowns.</p><p> </p><p>She does not care for it. She would much rather be with Eve, in shit Franklin, where the sun falls upon uneven cement and beige apartment buildings. It is the last realization she needs.</p><p> </p><p>It's hilarious.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs. It erupts from her throat in the same way her hiccups do, but it is a much better sound. Joyous, with no sharp edges to cut herself on. No sharp edges like the glass creating beautiful colors in the office, but joyous in the mundane way - like enjoying the sunshine from your work desk. It is a laugh, of realization, of conclusions.</p><p> </p><p>Not conclusions like the movies, or the Bible, but mundane conclusions. The ones you come to on days you least expect it, when you're a little bit sleepy and behind on work, and your boss lectured you the night before.</p><p> </p><p>It is has very little to do with fate, or choice. Little to do with physics, or the Bible.</p><p> </p><p>It has everything to do with Eve. Just Eve. </p><p> </p><p>She laughs, louder.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, you're acting crazy."</p><p> </p><p>The laughter doesn't die when she stands up to collect her phone and throw her things into her purse. The laughter doesn't die when she slings her purse over her shoulder, and pats his shoulder, when she moves to walk by him. The laughter doesn't die when she catches a glimpse of Kennys confused face - she almost feels bad about it. He must think she is seriously crazy.</p><p> </p><p>She's not crazy, and neither is he, for not understanding. He's just a person who exists in the same world as her, but who has not felt Eve's love. He would understand, otherwise, but there's no way for him to. Maybe she will choose to tell him about it some day, but not right now. She is choosing to act crazy, but allowing this much time to have passed between her and Eve is the crazy part, no? She is actually choosing to be very sane.</p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, you aren't doing anything that makes me want to rescind the crazy statement." He twirls in his chair, to call after her, "<em>Where </em>are you going?"</p><p> </p><p>She smiles, it is a crazy one - one that hurts her cheeks almost - before turning around, and letting her shoulders fall, "Sometimes when you love somebody, you will do crazy things. I have been acting very crazy lately, Kenny." She pauses to consider her words, make sure she means them, "Right now, though, I am not being crazy."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Love</em>?" His eyes bulge out of his head, "Wait, you're leaving?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yep."</p><p> </p><p>"That <em>is </em>crazy."</p><p> </p><p>"It's not, actually." She shrugs, "It's crazier to stay."</p><p> </p><p>He stares at her, knit brows.</p><p> </p><p>"See you soon, Kenny." She hesitates, "Thank you."</p><p> </p><p>"See you," he offers back, a little dazed.</p><p> </p><p>She says bye to Amber on her way out, and she steps out into the London sunshine. It's warm on her shoulders - like a plead to stay, but she will not be hearing any of it. She is not <em>crazy </em>enough to listen.</p><p> </p><p>She waves down a Taxi, and she tells the driver Heathrow.</p><p> </p><p>Heathrow, she says. <em>Heathrow</em>, it tastes like a choice as it falls from her lips.</p><p> </p><p>She does not stop by her apartment, to pack, or to grab anything. She does not want to be assumptive. She may get to Franklin, and Eve will tell her to get lost. It is a very possible outcome. That is the thing about choices. It doesn't deter her, not in the least.</p><p> </p><p>She calls Konstantin when the driver pulls away from the office. He picks up after a few rings.</p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Villanelle," he says, preoccupied, and obviously uncaring about the major life event she is currently going through. </p><p> </p><p>It is fine, this time. It doesn't bother her.</p><p> </p><p>"Hello, Konstantin." She chirps back, "I left the office. I do not when I'll be back. I am calling to let you know because you are my boss and I am professional."</p><p> </p><p>He pauses, and she can picture his grin before he hears it, "Let me guess. You are going to go see about a girl?"</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes. She thinks about Matt Damon and therapists and leaving, and none of these things fit into the picture she is currently crafting with her own hands.</p><p> </p><p>"This is not a movie, Konstantin." She sighs, "I am making a choice."</p><p> </p><p>"Ah," he lets out a small laugh, she can hear him scratching his beard, "So you are calling me, as your boss, to let me know you will be out? Or perhaps, you are calling me as your friend, to let me know you have taken my advice?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, it's pretty much only the first part."</p><p> </p><p>Konstantin laughs, a hearty hyuck, "Whatever you say."</p><p> </p><p>When his laugh dies down, his voice becomes a little more somber, "She is going to be very angry, Villanelle. Let her."</p><p> </p><p>"I know."</p><p> </p><p>"You sound.. very up. Happy." <em>You sound manic, </em>is other ways he has said this in the past. "I do not want to rain on your parade, but as your friend, I have to remind you this may not end well."</p><p> </p><p>"I know," she confirms, instead of denying, and lets her gaze fall fall onto the passing scenery, "I am not happy, Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>"You sound like it," he counters.</p><p> </p><p>"I am not happy. I am just.. accepting" She tries to put into words what she feels in her heart, <em>I am confident in choice</em>, <em>if I can not be confident any where else,</em> "I don't know how to explain it."</p><p> </p><p>"Ah. Love will do that."</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm proud of you."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm going to hang up now."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, call me afterwards."</p><p> </p><p>"Konstantin."</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence. She tries to force the words out. They come in the shape of a hiccup. She wonders if this is how she will say it to Eve. An obtrusive noise to spell out, <em>I love you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He waits, until he doesn't, and then he says, "I know."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay."</p><p> </p><p>"Me too."</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks."</p><p> </p><p>"Bye."</p><p> </p><p>"Bye."</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The airplane smells like peanuts, and recirculated air. They are not smells that serve to reinforce confidence, but they don't serve to dwindle hers. She is making a choice. An eight-hour long choice.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders what kind of fire Eve will give her. It's always fire. Sometimes it is like gasoline to a match, and Villanelle isn't sure whether she's holding the canister or the matchbox. Sometimes it is like a forest fire, and Villanelle isn't involved at all - she is just witness to Eve's quiet burning. </p><p> </p><p>She passes the time thinking about fire, and whether fire is indicative of love or hate. She tries to think about the line that separates them. What does she think of when she thinks of hate?</p><p> </p><p>Hate is disgust in the stomach lining, hate is the itch you can't scratch, hate is a burning flame.</p><p> </p><p>It's interesting how similar it is to love. She has felt all of these things with Eve. </p><p> </p><p>She knows Eve has felt all of these things with her. She wonders which side of the line Eve stands on. Maybe Eve hates her. It's fine. It does not make her want to give her her love any less. </p><p> </p><p>If Eve doesn't want her love past its confession, then she will love her very quietly, from somewhere far away. A flame left alit long after the house is empty. Hate and love are very similar, but they hold different faces.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sees their faces when she closes her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>When she thinks of love, she thinks of Eve's face.</p><p> </p><p>When she thinks of hate, she expects to see her mother's. But she doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>When she thinks of hate, Villanelle sees her own face. She is working on it.</p><p> </p><p>She works on it for the rest of the plane ride.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She gets to Forbbiden Fruit around 9:04 PM. That is what the clock says.</p><p> </p><p>She could not tell you what happened on the ride from the airport, to the bar, aside from the fact that time moved. It's still moving, like her feet as they approach the door of the bar. She pushes it open, and it feels like <em>applying pressure</em>, but she is no longer thinking about Newton's laws. No, she is only thinking about Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She opens the door to a mostly-empty bar. One that does not contain Eve. It contains a few patrons littered about, two men playing pull in the corner, and Elena slouched against the bar. Elena is texting somebody on her phone, and it takes her a few seconds to look up.</p><p> </p><p>When she does, her mouth opens slightly, but her eyes don't hold the level of shock Villanelle had expected them to. They look happy, surprised, maybe - but not shocked.</p><p> </p><p>Elena's open-mouth splits into an open-grin, and she shakes her head when she says, "Wow. I owe Hugo some money."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle knits her brows together, breath-less after stepping back into a world she has felt exiled from, one that exiled herself from, "<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>"You came back sooner than I thought. I said a few weeks." She moves to step out from behind the bar, sliding her phone into her back pocket, as she does, "He said it would be less."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle takes slow steps forward until she is a few feet from the bar, her voice leaves her as slowly as her steps, "You thought I would come back?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Nope</em>." Elena pops the p, coming to stand in front of the bar, "I knew."</p><p> </p><p>And with that, she surges forward, throwing her arms around Villanelle's shoulders. It knocks Villanelle back a few feet. It is impressive that Elena is both tiny and powerful.</p><p> </p><p>She lets Elena hug her, but she stands dazed with her arms at her sides;  she mutters into the woman's hair, "How?"</p><p> </p><p>Elena lets her go, in favor of holding Villanelle at arm's length. A shit-eating grin spreads across her face, and Villanelle hears the word before it leaves her mouth, "Fate."</p><p> </p><p>"It is not fate." Villanelle shakes her head, assertively, "It is a choice."</p><p> </p><p>Elena quirks an eyebrow at that, "Can't it be both?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle blinks at that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>For somebody who talks too much, Elena makes a scary amount of sense sometimes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I know. I'm a genius," Elena shrugs, finally letting her hands fall away from Villanelle's shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>"Eve is upstairs?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, no. She's in New York."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyes widen, at that. </p><p> </p><p>"Or, was in New York." Elena looks at her phone, "She should be back in an hour or two."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyes don't reduce from their widened shape, "She is coming back?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, silly. It's not like she could sell the bar and move in two weeks," Elena laughs, shaking her head at Villanelle, "She's just looking at some apartments. She should be on the train back."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh," Villanelle's brows crease, "she sold the bar?"</p><p> </p><p>"She's trying to," Elena shrugs, "It's time."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods.<em> It is time</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you want to wait for her, down here?" </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle looks around the bar, slowly. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you want to wait for her upstairs?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares.</p><p> </p><p>Elena pulls some keys out of her pocket, and slides one off of the ring, before offering to her.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares at it.</p><p> </p><p>"Elena, I do not think you understand. Eve does not know I am here."</p><p> </p><p>"Duh," Elena snorts, waggling the key in front of her, "I would know if she knew."</p><p> </p><p>"Don't you think she would be a little.. pissed off, if you let me into her apartment?"</p><p> </p><p>"She will be," Elena opens Villanelle's palm, pressing the key into it, "but she'll thank me later. Sometimes you have to do it that way. Piss off the people you love, so they'll thank you later. Delayed gratification is sweeter than instant," she shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>The key feels cool, and heavy in her hand. Metaphorical, maybe. She doesn't have one to attach, though, so it becomes very simple. It just feels like Eve's key, in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>"Just out of my own selfish curiosities," Elena cocks her head to the side, "Why didn't you text?"</p><p> </p><p>"I did not really.. think about that," Villanelle shrugs, glueing her words together.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I spent too much time thinking about coming here, that I didn't think about much else.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was probably a subconscious move, the more she thinks about it. The weight of her words needing to be released in her person, the weight not containable in little machines.</p><p> </p><p>"Figures," Elena rolls her eyes, "You might have everybody else fooled with this hot, mysterious thing, V, but I can read you like a book."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares at her, unmoving.</p><p> </p><p>"You know, I have a lot to ask you about. Your ghosting tendencies, what you think of the new hosts on <em>Bake off</em>, who this Kenny person is. Especially the last one." Elena lists them off, with a sigh, "But right now, I am too dedicated to love winning. So, I'll save them."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares, more.</p><p> </p><p>Elena swats her shoulder, and Villanelle recoils a bit, "Go get em, tiger."</p><p> </p><p>She moves this time. Her feet move with a sticky energy, as she treks a slow trail away from Elena and away from the bar. She moves through the door that allows her access into the stairwell, and she hears Elena's voice call out after her, "Try not to set each other on fire!"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't respond. She just makes her way up the stair case.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We're already on fire.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When she slides the key into Eve's lock, and lets herself in, it feels like being able to touch something after a long time of not being able to. Burnt fingertips regaining sensation.</p><p> </p><p>It looks the same. It smells the same. The furniture and the walls and the floor all spelling out <em>Eve</em>. A thousand different shapes, coming together to form a three-letter word. It floods her chest with familiarity. She smiles, at the familiarity of Eve, even though she knows that it is akin to smiling while lighting a stick of dynamite.</p><p> </p><p>She moves through the space very delicately, very selflessly. If she had it her way, she would shower in Eve's bathroom, wash her hair with her coconut conditioner. She would dress herself in one of Eve's shitty turtlenecks. She would lay in Eve's bed, bury her face into the pillow. She is not here to be selfish, though. </p><p> </p><p>She sits down on the couch, and she looks around. There is only one thing that seems out of place. A bottle of red nail polish on the coffee table. She tries to think of a time she has ever seen Eve with painted nails, but she comes up short. She wonders if this is one of Eve's neurotic habits she doesn't let anybody see. She can imagine Eve, sitting down on the couch and furiously painting her nails, only to rub it all off with nail polish remover directly afterwards. A hidden habit of Eve's, like crying. She can't help but laugh at the image.</p><p> </p><p>When her hand reaches for the nail polish, she lets it. She slips the bottle into her pocket, and she decides that it's okay to be a little selfish. There is a chance Eve may send her on her way, never to see her again, and Villanelle figures it's okay if she takes a bottle of drugstore nail polish as a token of remembrance. </p><p> </p><p>She behaves after that, though. She sits on the couch, very selflessly.</p><p> </p><p>She sits on the couch for a very long time. It does not bother her. A lot of love is waiting, she is realizing. They make it pretty in the movies, with time jumps and cut scenes, but it is actually very mundane in the real world. Love is waiting for the other person to catch up, love is not getting out of bed, love is getting out of bed, and love is sitting on couches. Love is leaving, and love is staying, and love is everything that happens in between. Love is the ball when it bounces, and the apple when it is bitten, and the rope when it is pulled, and the stab when the knife goes through, and love is the hands that make all of these things happen. </p><p> </p><p>Love is Eve, and Love comes home a little after midnight. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle doesn't move from the couch. She could if she wanted. Her body does not feel paralyzed, or made of stone. She is hyperaware of the flesh stretching over  her, elastic, and she feels very much alive, but she stays seated because she figures that is what Eve would want.</p><p> </p><p>She hears the sound of Eve locking the door behind her (love is the sound of a lock clicking into place), she hears the sound of Eve's feet trekking down the hallway (love is the sound of shoes against wood), and she hears the sharp intake of Eve's breath when Eve's eyes fall upon her (love is air leaving the body, air being sucked in).</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle holds her breath as Eve comes into view. She looks tired. Bags under her eyes, and hair tied up into a messy bun. She is wearing old New Balances, and a baggy sweater. It is the truest image of Eve. Imprecise, and strewn together, fraying at the edges, but sewed tightly in the middle. She looks like somebody who has spent the day on subways, and who woke up on the wrong side of the bed her entire life.</p><p> </p><p>It makes Villanelle's heart soar. Love is disgusting, in that way.</p><p> </p><p>They make eye contact, and Villanelle watches as Eve's eyes grow wide. She watches as Eve's body takes a step forward, before she stops in her tracks. She watches as Eve fights her body in subconscious battle, and Villanelle wonders whether Eve's body wants to fly forward in an attempt to kiss her, or slap her. She becomes very still, and Villanelle watches as tears form in the corner of Eve's eyes. They glint against the light, as she shakes her head, and Villanelle watches as the cold laugh crawls up Eve's throat, until it leaves her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"No. <em>No</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Love is often times <em>No</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>She goes to stand slowly, but Eve's voice stops her.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>. Sit down."</p><p> </p><p>Love is doing what you're told. <em>Sometimes</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sits back down.</p><p> </p><p>"How was New York?" </p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Eve really likes this word, tonight.</p><p> </p><p>"I did not know something could be <em>No</em>," Villanelle quirks an eyebrow, "I have an apartment there, you know. You can have it, if you want."</p><p> </p><p>Eve cackles, at that. Wet, and loud, and <em>No</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, god. That's rich." She shakes her head, a smile curling her lips as she steps forward, "You show up here, unannounced, and <em>probably </em>unwelcome - I haven't decided yet - to offer your apartment for me to rent."</p><p> </p><p>"No," Villanelle says it much more slowly than Eve's <em>no</em>, "I would not charge you rent."</p><p> </p><p>Eve laughs, louder. <em>No, no, no.</em></p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>You don't just get to show up here, Villanelle!" The noise of laughter dissipates into something more akin to yelling, and Eve's hands fly around her as she yells, "You don't just get to leave, and then show up here in some grandiose gesture, offering me things!"</p><p> </p><p>A fire erupts. <em>It's record timing</em>, Villanelle thinks. <em>Gasoline to a match this time</em>, Villanelle thinks. <em>God, she loves her</em>, Villanelle thinks. Eve yells loudly, and Villanelle welcomes it. She welcomes the sound, in a place that she is unwelcome. She deserves it, in a way separate from wanting it to feel better. It is not the same feeling as seeking out a blade to cut your finger on so you can lap up the blood. It is the same as cutting your finger on a blade, and not putting a bandaid over it because you know it will seep through anyways. Eve's yell seeps into her, and she welcomes it.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, slowly, "I know. I did not come here to offer you that, Eve. I was just told that you were apartment hunting in New York, and it seemed reasonable." <em>It is reasonable</em>, she doesn't add, <em>probably the only reasonable thing you will hear from me tonight</em>, "Do you want me to leave?"</p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other. Eve's eyes alit with fire, and her chest moving in rapid succession. Her lungs creating an alteration of motion. <em>Newton's second law</em>. It is just something she notices, it is not something she tries to make sense of.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's fingers twitch at her sides, and the movement looks erratic. Imprecise. She wants to do something with them, and Villanelle would usually feel an urge to beg her to tell her what it is. But, begging is something somebody does when they feel out of time. Perhaps, this is the reason she does not feel it necessary to get on her knees. The clock ticks, and Villanelle doesn't a pull to remove the batteries.</p><p> </p><p>So, she sits. She sits, swallows, hiccups, waits.</p><p> </p><p>Eve finally responds, "<em>No</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay."</p><p> </p><p>"Why didn't you call me? Text me? Send me an e-mail, for fucks sake? <em>Anything</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows, offers Eve her truth even if it is messy, "I did not.. think about that, at the time."</p><p> </p><p>"Of course, you didn't," Eve laughs, shaking her head, "Why would you? Why would you think about anything further than wanting to do something and doing it? God, Villanelle, you're so.."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Selfish?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Immature?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stupid?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve never finishes, and Villanelle wonders if its because she can't find a word to relay what exactly it is she thinks Villanelle is. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle waits, because love is waiting, but when Eve doesn't finish her sentence, she chimes in with her truth, "I did not think about texting you beforehand, that is true. But I thought about coming here, a lot." </p><p> </p><p>Eve stills, frozen with a fear that exists within a realm of asking or not asking, and Villanelle allows the stillness. Maybe it is both the gasoline, the match, and the forest fire. Maybe the match is what starts the forest fire. The air in the apartment is quiet and still, like trees before they get set ablaze, and Villanelle waits, to be set ablaze. </p><p> </p><p>Eve disturbs it when she takes a step forward, and the wood creaks under her feet. Inertia at rest, moved into motion by Eve's footfall. <em>Newton's first law.</em></p><p> </p><p>She crosses her arms and she asks, very carefully, "Why <em>did </em>you come here, Villanelle?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Huge question.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Many answers.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She blows some air out of her cheeks, before gesturing to the seat next to her, "Do you want to sit down?"</p><p> </p><p>"No."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay," she mouths, silently, "but you might be standing, for a while."</p><p> </p><p>"Fine."</p><p> </p><p>"I had the hiccups," Villanelle shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks a brow, annoyed and confused, "What?"</p><p> </p><p>"That is the reason that I almost came, the first time. I had the hiccups." As if on cue, a small one escapes her lips, and she points to her mouth, "<em>Have </em>the hiccups, I guess. They are not as frequent. I have had them since I left. I guess they can be stress-induced."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's lips curl into a small frown. Not sympathetic. Just confused. It doesn't make Villanelle sad.</p><p> </p><p>She loves Eve even when Eve doesn't feel bad for her. That is how she knows her love belongs to Eve, in ways that it doesn't belong to herself. She feels more desperate for Eve's truths, rather than her attention. Eve's truth right now is that she doesn't care that Villanelle has the hiccups. That's fine.</p><p> </p><p>"They are very annoying. So that is why I thought about coming back the first time. I wanted to get rid of my hiccups. But, I did not do that."</p><p> </p><p>"Why?" Eve barks, more than asks.</p><p> </p><p>"Because that would be very selfish, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>"You <em>are </em>selfish." Another bark, more bite this time.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, you are right." Villanelle accepts it, coolly. She is. She thinks about herself very often, but she thinks about Eve more, "But, not selfish enough to see you to get rid of my hiccups. If that was the reason, I would just accept them. I would live with hiccups for the rest of my life.</p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't respond, so Villanelle pauses, before adding, "It is not about the hiccups."</p><p> </p><p>Eve is losing patience, Villanelle can tell the way her hands turn into fists against her upper arms, and that's fine. They are both losing, all the time. That is what this is about. </p><p> </p><p>"What <em>is </em>it about then, Villanelle?" </p><p> </p><p>"Well, I got over the whole hiccups thing." Villanelle rubs her hands against her pant legs, fabric on flesh, "Then I almost came because I just wanted to see you."</p><p> </p><p>Eve waits, and Villanelle shrugs. This one is very simple. She doesn't have much more to add.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is simple, sometimes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"And you didn't because..?" Eve's words come out clipped, sharp.</p><p> </p><p>"It would be selfish."</p><p> </p><p>She laughs, colder than the first time, "So what? You've turned a new leaf? You're here to say sorry?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not.. <em>exactly</em>," Villanelle shrugs, a little sheepishly this time, and she feels Eve grow angrier with the admittance, "I <em>am </em>sorry, for leaving the way that I did. At the time, I thought that was what you wanted. But I think I left, because some part of me wanted to."</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p> </p><p>It is one word, and it drips from Eve's lips the way gasoline does out of a nozzle. Weighted, and furious, and Villanelle has to stay conscious to not recoil. She stays conscious to keep her spine reminiscent of something sturdy, something that can carry Eve's anger. Konstantin's words ring, subdued, in her ears:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She is going to be angry, Villanelle. Let her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I did not know it at the time," Villanelle starts slowly, her voice a shaky kind of a sound trying to appear confident, "but I think I was scared."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's voice breaks out in a shrill, loud cackle, and the flames engulf her then. Eve laughs and it sounds like a match striking, and she laughers harder, and it sounds like trees going up in flames. Villanelle watches it, with loving eyes. Nothing more than a bystander, waiting to suffer from smoke inhalation.</p><p> </p><p>"You were scared, so you left?" Eve laughs a little harder, uncrossing her arms, and running her hands over her face, "And you're a <em>little</em> sorry?"</p><p> </p><p>"No," Villanelle sobers, "I am very sorry for leaving like that, Eve. It was a shit thing to do."</p><p> </p><p>Eve raises an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle adds her truth, and she knows it'll turn the Earth to ash, "I think I needed to leave, though."</p><p> </p><p>Eve bends over, holding her stomach as she laughs. She laughs until she stands up to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. She looks maniacal, kind of insane, and Villanelle watches her, lovingly.</p><p> </p><p>"God, that's so fucking rich, Villanelle. You left, because you were scared." Eve's laughter ceases, and she adds, "I guess my opening statement still stands then."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks her head, confused, and Eve's eyes burn holes into hers.</p><p> </p><p>"That you get to go into whatever town you want, decide its shit, and leave."</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widen, and she leans forward, "Wait, no. Eve, I did not leave because it was shit. I left because I was scared. I left because I-"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cocks an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>She had not considered this aspect.</p><p> </p><p>She remains confident in her intentions - that she will tell Eve she loves her, and whatever Eve decides to do with that information is fine with her. But what does she do if Eve does not want to hear it? If Eve does not even allow her to say it?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is silence, sometimes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>But she has been silent, for a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>So sometimes, love is pushing it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Eve, please." She stands up, slowly, and she keeps her arms tight as her sides to keep them from reaching out. "Can I finish?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not until I have," Eve bites the words out, and Villanelle feels it. Teeth bared, clenching into her skin. Eve takes a step forward, and her eyes are no less furious, "You know what's funny? After you left, I thought it was some kind of.. karmic punishment. I left Niko with a note, and so I convinced myself it only made sense that you'd leave me with one."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's eyes widen, a bit at that, because she had forgotten about the Niko thing.</p><p> </p><p>Not her best move.</p><p> </p><p>She recoils, slightly, and Eve watches the movement with narrowed eyes, "Yeah. <em>Sorry, Baby</em>? I mean <em>seriously</em>, Villanelle?" She shakes her head with a snort, "Class act."</p><p> </p><p>"I am.. <em>sorry</em>, Eve," Villanelle offers it, feebly; sincerely, holding her palms out at her sides.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is saying sorry when you are. She is still figuring out how to do this part.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It makes Eve angrier.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I'm sure you are. Anyways, I don't even believe in karma, but I figured it must be. Because it felt like a fucking punishment, Villanelle." Eve chokes a little bit on her words here, swallowing them so she can spit them back out in a yell, "I left my husband with a note, and I barely felt anything. Sure, I felt guilt, but I felt free." Eve's eyes water with angry tears, and it is the first time she wonders if fire can be wet, "But you left me with a note.. and I felt <em>everything</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle eyes soften with realization.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, fire can not be wet.</p><p> </p><p>Eve tries to make her tears angry, but they are not. They are simple tears - ones of devastation, of heartbreak. The fire burns, and the tears fall, and these things are not mutually exclusive.</p><p> </p><p>She steps forward, and Eve steps back. It looks like dancing.</p><p> </p><p>She would love to dance with Eve. Not like this.</p><p> </p><p>"I couldn't sleep, I couldn't get out of bed, I could barely function, because all I felt was your absence. Your stupid <em>fucking </em>absence," Eve chokes out the words, and she bites her lip to keep it from trembling. She releases her lip and her arms fly out to her sides, reaching for nothing, "You want to know what the worst part of it is, Villanelle?"</p><p> </p><p>She laughs, wet and strained, and Villanelle stares.</p><p> </p><p>"I fucking get it. I <em>understand </em>why you left!" Her fire burns, weakly, the only way it can when her tears fall from her eyes quickly enough to turn flames to embers. And when Eve yells, she does so at a volume that lacks conviction, "I think that you're just as terrified of loving me as I am of loving you!"</p><p> </p><p>The words wash over Villanelle with a staggering unfamiliarity. It rattles her chest, and weakens her legs, and blurs her vision. Her body experiences an intense reaction to receiving love in places she did not expend to find it. That is what it is. A reaction, to her action. <em>Newton's third law</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Eve searches her face, desperately, "That's why you're here, isn't it? To tell me?"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, dumbly.</p><p> </p><p>"Then tell me."</p><p> </p><p>When she gives her words to Eve, she does not view it as a gift. She does compartmentalize it the same way she did with the non-goodbye, and she does not even view it as.. <em>giving</em>, really. It is just an allowance of truth. She allows the words to fall of her lips, and truth feels familiar falling off her lips, after several years of non-truths.</p><p> </p><p>"I love you, Eve," she whispers it, confidently and quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares; swallows, and Villanelle wonders what it tastes like. Blood, or something sweeter.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you going to ask me to be with you?" </p><p> </p><p>Eve asks, because of course, she does. Some things never change. Eve, always desperate to understand stand an outcome, even if that means delaying answers by asking more questions. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle smiles, sadly, "No. That is what I figured out."</p><p> </p><p>Eve cocks her head, slightly, and crosses her arms. Villanelle wants to uncross them. Villanelle wants to tell her there is no need to be defensive, because it's all very simple, so she does.</p><p> </p><p>"I knew before I left. That I loved you, I mean." She inhales, letting her shoulders relax the way they want to after the words no longer weight them down, "But, I wanted you as much as I loved you. I wanted a place in your <em>world</em>, Eve, and I did not know if you would let me fit into it. You did not seem to want that. I think I was scared to want that."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's arms uncross slowly, and her eyes narrow - not in a vindictive way, but in a way of realization. Eve is realizing that their pain touches somewhere in the middle, that their pain rubs against one another's until it is raw, and bleeding. Eve wears a look that Villanelle can't place - <em>remorse, maybe? </em><em>Guilt, possibly</em>? She looks like she's on trial.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle blows some air out of her cheeks, blinking away her tears, "I am strong, Eve, but I am not <em>that </em>strong. I still want those things. All of them. But that is not why I am here. I am here because I love you, and you deserve to know, and I do not care what you do with that information."</p><p> </p><p>Eve quirks an eyebrow, and Villanelle corrects herself, sputtering, "I mean, I do care, obviously. But I mean that I am only here to tell you that I love you. I am not asking for your future, and I am not asking you to give me anything that you do not want to give me. I am just here to.. <em>tell you.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows.</p><p> </p><p>She had imagined something like this a lot of ways. A sonnet, maybe. On one knee, maybe. A letter written in cursive, maybe. But the words fall from her lips, messy and ineloquent, but true.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is messy.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other.</p><p> </p><p>When Eve's confession comes, the words come out the way one would give them to a priest, muttered through the screen of a confession booth.</p><p> </p><p>"When I think about my future, all I see is your face. Over, and over again."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle notes the quiet defeat in her tone. She notes it, painfully. </p><p> </p><p>"You don't sound very optimistic about that."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, slowly. </p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other - and their chests move from fast, erratic things, to slow things. They stare at each other, and time moves in a sticky way. Clinging to their bodies, and weighing them down.</p><p> </p><p>Eve closes her eyes, the stickiness of time glueing her eyelashes together.</p><p> </p><p>When she reopens them, they look weighted with surrender, "But I don't have to be."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle quirks a brow, and she looks at Eve closely. She hears her confession for what it is.</p><p> </p><p>Despair, mostly. Hope, hardly. Love, in the overlap. </p><p> </p><p>"Villanelle, I'm going to ask you to do something, and I don't want you to take it the wrong way."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods again, slower this time.</p><p> </p><p>"I need you to go back to your hotel."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle purses her lips. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay," she lies.</p><p> </p><p>She shouldn't, but it is a white lie. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is honest. She is working on this.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>I have had so much that I've wanted to say to you these past two weeks, but I didn't expect you to be here right now, and it's a lot. I need.. a second," Eve relays this, breathless and desperate. </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wishes she knew what she was desperate for. </p><p> </p><p>Right now, she only knows that Eve wants her to go away, but not too far. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure," Villanelle shrugs, and the movement echoes hope, despair, love, and confusion.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>They really need to stop mirroring each other.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If they are both holding mirrors up all the time, how are they ever supposed to see each other?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve nods.</p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other, quietly, for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle leaves.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks about tossing a <em>Love you</em>, over her shoulder as she goes just to freak Eve out a little bit, but she thinks that might be over kill. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t. She leaves, silently.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love is anticlimactic. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This is the conclusion she comes to in her hotel room, as she paints her nails with polish she stole from Eve's apartment.</p><p> </p><p>This is what she thought about on the walk from Eve's apartment to her hotel. The walk ached with familiarity, and unfamiliarity - retracing ghostly steps of her nightly routine only a few weeks prior. It felt familiar, in the way that the lights glinted off the river the exact way she remembered them, and it felt unfamiliar, in the way she had to check back into a hotel she felt she never really checked out of.</p><p> </p><p>It still feels familiar, in the way that her hotel room has a TV and a Bible, and it feels unfamiliar, in the way that her hotel room is on a different floor. It feels familiar, that her heart is a muscle that remains very much alive in her chest, and it feels unfamiliar, that she isn't considering all the ways she can tear it out. </p><p> </p><p>It feels familiar, to feel close to Eve, and it feels unfamiliar, to be close to Eve. </p><p> </p><p>It feels familiar, to love Eve, and it feels unfamiliar, to not feel that love as a death sentence.</p><p> </p><p>It feels familiar, to love Eve, and it feels unfamiliar, to know Eve loves her too. Even if Eve did not explicitly name it.</p><p> </p><p>The Bible ended with the restoration of Eden. Newton's laws ended with a blueprint for humanity to better understand how the world works. She braced herself for some climactic.</p><p> </p><p>But as she paints her nails, in a dusty hotel room, and realizes she loves Eve's in ways that not even Newton or God could make sense of, it feels very anticlimactic. </p><p> </p><p>It feels like accepting the choice that fate made for her. Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>She'll never really know, and that's fine.</p><p> </p><p>She paints her nails the color red and she thinks it looks better on her nails, than on her palms. Red shouldn't color her palms with blood, because she should not have been pulling on a rope in the first place. The rope was always meant to be followed, not pulled, but her and Eve created chaos where there supposed to be peace. It makes sense, for the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>It makes sense, that coming together, feels quiet in a way that it shouldn't.</p><p> </p><p>It makes sense that she doesn't even finish painting her right hand, before a knock kills the quiet.</p><p> </p><p>She pauses, putting the polish on the nightstand, before getting up to answer it.</p><p> </p><p>She has to bite back a laugh, when she looks through the peephole. She lets her hand rest against the door, allows herself this moment of a very frazzled looking Eve, before opening it.</p><p> </p><p>When she does, she leans against the frame, quirking an eyebrow at Eve, "Hi, partner."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares, mouth open and wide-eyed, like a fish out of water. It is unbecoming.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Villanelle loves her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Given the amount of time, she can only assume that Eve chased after her. She must have asked the man at the front desk for her room number, with a terrifying motivated energy, only to march up here and lose her words. Very dramatic.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Villanelle loves her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve flails, and Villanelle watches as her fists clench. She doesn't know if Eve is going to punch her, or rip her clothes off. Very uncertain.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Villanelle loves her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes water, and she half-shouts, angry, maybe, and desperate, mostly, "<em>I love you</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>It echoes through the empty hotel hallway, reverberating off the walls until it hits Villanelle in the face, and wipes her smile clean off. Very surprising.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Villanelle loves her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I forgot to tell you." Eve exhales, breathily, running her hands through her hair with a short laugh, "You left, and I realized that I forgot to tell you. <em>God</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises an eyebrow, smiling at the fact that wherever quiet may find her - Eve will find a way to rip it apart, and she counters, "You <em>forgot</em>.. to tell me that you love me?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Eve answers breathlessly, pushing past Villanelle into her hotel room, without an invite.</p><p> </p><p>It is impolite, because Eve is impolite.</p><p> </p><p>When she shuts the door, she turns around slowly and lets herself take in the sight of Eve pacing in her hotel room. Her hair is messy, falling out of the bun its in, and her shitty blue coat is all wrinkled around the edges. Her eyes are still blood-shot from crying, and there's a little dried mascara trail under her right eye.</p><p> </p><p>It feels imprecise, because Eve is imprecise.</p><p> </p><p>Eve <em>forgot </em>to tell her that she loves her, in the same that Eve forgets whether she takes her coffee with oat milk or almond milk. Eve forgot to tell her that she loves her, in the same way that Eve forgets to take off her socks before getting into bed only to peel them off under the covers. Eve forgot to tell her that she loves her, in the same way Eve forgets to set more than one alarm and jumps out of bed like a one-person tornado.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's love is imprecise, because she is imprecise, and Villanelle wouldn't accept it any other way.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Villanelle loves her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She continues pacing, so Villanelle asks, "Is it okay if I finish painting my nails while you ride out.." she gesticulates to Eve's pacing, "whatever this is?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure, go ahead," Eve replies, unbothered because she is too involved with herself right now, and Villanelle rolls her eyes before plopping back onto the bed. </p><p> </p><p>When she pulls the bottle off the nightstand, and uncaps it, Eve stops pacing.</p><p> </p><p>"Is that my nail polish?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I stole it from your apartment."</p><p> </p><p>Eve guffaws, and Villanelle shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>She is able to paint one fingernail before Eve opens her mouth again, and she is not surprised because she has felt Eve's eyes on her the whole time, "We'll eat each other alive."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses, allowing herself to take in the tone of Eve's voice; the fire in her eyes. It is not the usual checklist she is subjected to - the one Eve reads off in an attempt to convince Villanelle of all the reasons this is a bad idea. Eve's tone is not indicate of pleads to be convinced. Eve's tone is indicative of a <em>warning. </em>It feels more like a flight attendant giving instructions on how to navigate a plane crash, rather than an anxious traveler convincing her not to get on the plane, in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs, a lackluster attempt at remaining composed, as she starts to paint her pointer finger, "Good thing I am always hungry."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth open, at that, and she tries again, "We'll drive each other crazy, Villanelle."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs, loudly, at that one, "I got on a plane, and you showed up at my hotel room thirty minutes after asking me to leave. We are past crazy, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We are in love.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eyes water, and she snorts, in a last ditch-effort, a final warning, "It's not easy, Villanelle. Love isn't.. butterflies and rainbows."</p><p> </p><p>"We have never been easy, Eve." Villanelle sighs, capping the nail polish, and setting it on the nightstand. "We have never been butterflies and rainbows."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We have always been stupid insects and forest fires.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares.</p><p> </p><p>She scoots to sit on the edge of the bed, and she quirks an eyebrow at Eve, "It is more like.. moths and flames."</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares, and she mutters, dazedly, "Flames are how moths get set on fire."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, Eve, but they fly towards them anyways," Villanelle shrugs, "Do you want butterflies and rainbows?"</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes.</p><p> </p><p>"No."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>"Then, let us burn."</p><p> </p><p>"I love you," Eve croaks, eyes still watering, and Villanelle smiles.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This is going to end in flames.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>"</em>Yes, I know. I love you too, Eve."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Let's set the world on fire.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It is not a promise of one another's futures, and it not a promise that things will work.  It's not a promise at all. It's an exchange, a way of saying: <em>It will end, in some way. Let's enjoy it before it does.</em> It is very simple. Anticlimactic, really.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's eye burn with something different then - not anger, or confusion - but a desire that's been left untouched for two weeks. When she takes a few slow steps, and lowers herself to straddle Villanelle's lap, Villanelle's hands move to loop around her waist in the way hands do when they are desperate to carry a weight that they haven't in weeks. Eve's eyes don't burn any dimmer, as they look at each other, and Villanelle sees Eve's truth for what it is. Something akin to <em>I've been holding a match for forty years, and my hand is starting to cramp</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle intends to light it, when she leans forward. Eve's lips hover a few inches from hers, when she feels Eve's hand pass over hers, swiping a trail of something wet and sticky. Villanelle looks down to red nail polish smeared away from her nails, and across her knuckles. She raises an eyebrow, exhaling a quiet laugh, "Wow. That's rude."</p><p> </p><p>The flames in Eve's eyes turn black, a familiarity that makes a heat pool between Villanelle's legs the same way it pools in her chest, and she whispers her response against Villanelle's lips, "<em>Sorry, baby.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle swallows it, when she captures Eve's lips in a desperate kiss. It hurts almost, how forcefully they press into one another, and the hurt confirms Eve's first concern. They are definitely going to eat each other alive. In fact, Villanelle plans on it. </p><p> </p><p>Time passes when Eve rips Villanelle's shirt over her head, and time passes when Eve doesn't wait before bruising Villanelle's collarbone with her teeth. Time passes when Villanelle flips them over, and time passes when she doesn't let her mouth separate from Eve's for more than seconds at a time. Time passes when Eve's voice breaks out in a cry as Villanelle's hand slips between her legs, and time passes when Villanelle swallows it. Time passes when their teeth clank together, and time passes when their foreheads knock into one another's. Time passes when Eve bites Villanelle's lip hard enough to make it bleed, and time passes when Villanelle accidentally knocks her knee against Eve's pelvic bone when she tries to crawl up her body a little too fast. They make love, the way that time passes, and the way that Eve loves. Imprecise, and messy.</p><p> </p><p>When Eve comes undone, she cries out with with something strained that sounds a lot like an, "<em>I love you</em>," and Villanelle swallows it. She tastes it, for what it is.</p><p> </p><p>There are no mentions of <em>Oksana</em>, or the ghosts of her past. It tastes like excitement - sweet and deadly, the only way the future can taste. </p><p> </p><p>Time passes, and Villanelle loses an hour of it making love to Eve. She is very happy. </p><p> </p><p>She loses a few more of them, before her and Eve curl up together against the unfamiliarity of the hotel bed. They each lay on their side, looking at one another, before Eve leans forward to catch her lips in another less-than-innocent kiss. Villanelle smiles into it, before letting her hand rest on Eve's chest, and pushing her away gently.</p><p> </p><p>"I have not seen you for a long time, Eve. I want to look at you," Villanelle whispers, when she meet's Eve confused stare, and Eve smiles before lowering herself back down against the pillows.</p><p> </p><p>"It's been two weeks, you creep," Eve laughs, quietly, laying back on her side.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, because it is creepy.<em> Love is creepy.</em></p><p> </p><p>"My face is very beautiful. You have not missed it?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, but she doesn't respond. The way her eyes trace over Villanelle's features is a clear <em>Yes</em>. Eve leans forward to place a small kiss to the corner of Villanelle's mouth, and she hums, at the contact.</p><p> </p><p>"This doesn't mean I'm taking you up on your apartment offer," Eve pushes a strand of hair behind Villanelle's hair, and of course she won't, because Eve is too independent to even consider it.</p><p> </p><p>"Your loss," Villanelle shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>"No," Eve smiles, it is a knowing one, "I don't think so."</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They lose some hours to sleep, which is fine, and Villanelle wakes up when the sunlight pools in through the hotel window. It dances across the bare skin of Eve's hip, as her legs remains sprawled over Villanelle's mid-section, and Villanelle lets her fingers trace circles into her thigh. Eve stirs a little bit, pulling Villanelle closer, and Villanelle lets herself be pulled. </p><p> </p><p>They don't say anything for a long time. Eve traces shapes into Villanelle's chest, and they lay lazily in the sunlight. Time passes the way it does, not an unwelcome visitor, but just something that happens.</p><p> </p><p>"How long will you be here?" Eve finally whispers, and Villanelle turns her head to look at her.</p><p> </p><p>"I have a week of vacation time," Villanelle shrugs, kissing the corner of Eve's mouth, "Are you busy this week?"</p><p> </p><p>Eve exhales, letting her head fall against Villanelle's shoulder, "I have my divorce hearing on Wednesday."</p><p> </p><p>"That is still happening?"</p><p> </p><p>"It won't be for much longer," Eve sighs, "But I am free, other than that. What about you?"</p><p> </p><p>"I am free. I have to decide whether to take a project in Ibiza or Bologna," Eve's eyebrows knit together and Villanelle shrugs, "Maybe I will decide on the day you have your hearing."</p><p> </p><p>Eve's mouth falls open, "You're leaving London? For how long?"</p><p> </p><p>"A couple months," Villanelle offers, weakly.</p><p> </p><p>London is far from Pennsylvania. Ibiza and Bologne are further.</p><p> </p><p>"But I am free this week, if you will have me."</p><p> </p><p>Eve can't hold back her laughter, and Villanelle doesn't hold back the curious smile that comes as result of it, "Just to get this straight. We are free to spend time together this week, aside from my divorce hearing, and you deciding which country you'll be leaving to for a couple months."</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, because, <em>Yes, that sounds about right</em>. Messy, but right.</p><p> </p><p>Eve's smile breaks out, wide with disbelief, wider with amusement, "This is going to end terribly."</p><p> </p><p>And when Villanelle smiles back, she realizes they are exchanging smiles that are very unfamiliar.</p><p> </p><p>They are wearing the smiles of masters.</p><p> </p><p>Two people who have mastered the art of losing.</p><p> </p><p>They lean forward to taste one another's losing.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle thinks losing tastes like the sweetest gift time has given her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>from prose, to biblical reference, to physics.. a whirlwind, and this is where I thank you again!</p><p>there is so much that I could say about this fic! it started with fragments in my brain, and quickly transgressed into something much larger until there wasn't much vacancy left in my brain!</p><p>there were themes I knew that I wanted to include since the beginning, but it always centered Villanelle's perspective: her trying to make sense of love, what it means to be in a body that receives love, and what Eve's love means, in this context. this fic felt really personal to me, as a weirdo who's deeply obsessed with character study, and I know it's gotten really explorative at times - and I can't tell you how much it means to receive feedback in regards to how you all have experienced that! every comment that is left means something big to me, and it always has, and I'm feeling sentimental to tuck this away. seriously, I'm a sentimental fella over here!</p><p>(and yes, there will be an epilogue lmao I care about them... I don't know when it will come, but it will come)</p><p>I revisited a lot of different writing while I was writing this, but there was one quote that always stuck with me since the beginning of this story, and it's one I want to share with you now:</p><p>“Someone tells me: this kind of love is not viable. But how can you evaluate viability? Why is the viable a Good Thing? Why is it better to last than to burn?” - Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse: Fragments</p><p>maybe this fic is a love-letter, in that way. </p><p>this is where I chime in with the usual part: feel free to yell at me in the comments. let me know what you think in the comments. do whatever you want in the comments. I welcome it all!</p><p>conclusions can feel weirdly emotional, and there's no way they can sit right with everybody, so seriously - please feel free to let me know what you think as freely as you'd like! I always had a semblance of what I wanted this conclusion to look like (it changed over time, but for the most part) and I always had two dedications that rang out the loudest: I always wanted to remain true to their characterizations, and I always wanted to remain true to the messiness of human nature! </p><p>I don't know what else to say, or what else I can say, besides thank you! </p><p>XOXO </p><p>on the Bird app if you want to engage there: @digitizedturtle</p><p>I have this thing, which is connected to the bird app, if you have questions about the decision-making process in this fic, or questions about my sanity: https://curiouscat.qa/turtleduckxo</p><p>all of my love, and I hope you all continue to take care</p><p> </p><p>until next time XOXO</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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